A Song of Marked Souls
by IWantColouredRain
Summary: In a world where magic remains strong and the Old Gods keep active in the lives of their followers, Alyssa Snow and Oberyn Martell bear Marks that, according to the ancient gods that lurk in the weir woods, destine them for greatness. (fem!Jon Snow. not for Tully fans. OOC!Characters)
1. Background Info

**Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT. This was inspired by the series "Acquaint the Flesh" by Author376 on Ao3, influenced by fairytalelovr's Winter Roses also on Ao3 as well as several stories with a powerful North.**

**BTW, this is **_**not**_** for Tully fans (save the Blackfish. I like Brynden, but I loathe the rest of them. Edmure is an idiot, Hoster is a hypocrite pretty much the same as Walder Frey, Lysa is insane and Catelyn is just slightly better than Cersei if you ask me. If she hadn't been so stupid, the War of the Five Kings would've turned out so much better for her children.) So yeah, I have no sympathy or liking for the woman who admitted to praying for a child to die. **

**Anyway, so far I plan for this story to start with Alys aged 14 in 297, then there'll be a sequel with a timeskip to 300 AC, which is when the canon series events will start for my story. **

**Don't bother sending reviews saying 'this is wrong' "that didn't happen" etc. My story and **_**AU **_**for a reason. That being said, enjoy!**

* * *

**List of Historical Soulmates:**

**These are not ALL the soulmates in Westerosi history, but they're the ones that are significant:**

**Garth Greenhand and Eilbhe the Fair: **First King and Queen of the First Men, led the First Men across the Arm of Dorne.

**Brandon of the Bloody Blade and Elayne the Archer:** Drove the giants from the Reach and slaughtered so many Children of the Forest at the Blue Lake that it was renamed the Red Lake.

**Brandon the Builder and Oak, Daughter of the Forest: **Built the Wall and several other places. Founded House Stark

**Durran Godsgrief and Elenei:** First of the Storm King and Queens. Built Storm's End.

**Brandon "the Breaker" Stark and Aida of the True North: **Defeated the Night King and then brought the Free Folk (save for the Thenns) into the protection of the Starks by the Marked union of Brandon and King-Beyond-the-Wall Joramun's daughter.

**Mors Martell and Princess Nymeria: **Led the Rhoynish into Dorne and united it. Founded House Nymeros Martell.

**Theon "the Hungry Wolf" Stark and Yara Greystark: **Completed the Northern Kingdom's expansion by driving off the Andals, and conquering the Three Sisters.

**Loreon Lannister and Alysanne Reyne: **First true King and Queen of the Rock according to historical record. Defeated Morgon Banefort and his vassals after a twenty-year-long war.

**Torrhen Stark and Visenya Targaryen:** Brought the Winter Lands (consists of the North-behind and beyond the Wall, itself, Skagos and the Three Sisters-never lost to the Vale) into the 'Seven Kingdoms'.

**Daeron "the Good" Targaryen II and Myriah Martell: **Peacefully brought Dorne into the Seven Kingdoms through their marriage.

**Oberyn Nymeros Martell and Alyssa Stark (formerly Snow): **?

(The Starks have had more soulmates in their history than any other families.)

* * *

**The North:**

The North is a lot more powerful in this story than in canon. The Free Folk (different to the wildlings) and the Three Sisters are both vassals to the Stark of Winterfell.

The Magnar of the Winter Lands is the equivalent to a Prince and has more power than anybody save the King. They are only required to bow to the King, not kneel. There was almost no change in the lives of the Winter Landers after the Conquest and the North is the only place that the Targaryens never managed (even temporarily) to defeat.

The population is also a lot bigger now, and they have a standing army. Due to the North having expanded its territory beyond the Wall, they retain their magic and are aware of the wight/White Walker threat. Southrons don't take it seriously, however, so the North has given up on convincing them and concentrates on ensuring that the Night's Watch is filled with men and backed up by the Army.-Dragonglass is very valuable in the North, and they have several teams dedicated to tracking down any trace of it and mining it. They also have a mining agreement with Dragonstone for it.

The North expects its women to be capable of self-defence, but they still must submit to their fathers, husbands, brothers, etc.

The First Men still have magic, and follow the traditions of their ancestors, sacrificing criminals to the weirwoods, etc. The Old Gods are more prominent in this world.

'Burner' a derogatory term for the Andals used by the First Men.

Green Men are common and highly revered by the First Men. Greenseers are also more common, and act similar to Septons or Septas, in that they preach the tenets of the Old Faith. All followers of the Old Faith put great stock in the words of the greenseers, and revere them highly. It's a great honour to be offered the chance to become one of them. Howland Reed is the current High Greenseer.

Elders are the people responsible for teaching the children of the North about their history, traditions, etc. They can be men or women. There is one in every village and keep. Old Nan is Winterfell's Elder.

The population is much larger here, so the Watch is stronger. All castles are manned. Any criminals sent north by the Southrons often 'disappear' on rangings very quickly, depending on their crimes.

The Starks (save their bastards who are lords/ladies) are all addressed as Magnar(a) the Old Tongue equivalent to Prince(ss). No Andal is legally allowed to hold the title.

In 1557 BC, King Artos XVII 'the Scholar Wolf' Stark set up the University of Winterfell. He believed the education was vital for everyone, no matter their rank or gender, and made a law that every child attend a school from the age of five to ten (one for boys and a separate one for girls) where they are taught the basics of reading and writing as well as history and Northern traditions and stories by Elders, and everything else by Scholars, the Winter Lands' equivalent to a Maester. After finishing at the school, the students can apply to go to the University and study there as an Apprentice Scholar. If they cannot afford the fee, they can use the Courts to appeal to the Starks to fund their apprenticeship. They have to work off the loan and keep their work to a certain standard, however. If they cannot do so, they will no longer be funded, and still have to pay off their debts. The Maesters and their Citadel are sometimes accused of stealing the idea for their organization from the Scholars of the University.

Torrhen Stark was the first king to agree to bend the knee to his good brother (he married Visenya several years before the Conquest and they had three children by the start of it.) but only under certain conditions. Most of them were designed to ensure that the North kept as much independence as it could, but he also insisted on having a representative on the Small Council, the 'Master of Winter'. Basically, the Master of Winter is the Stark's ambassador to King's Landing. They do their best to ensure the North remains influential in the capital, while at the same time keeping the Starks abreast of everything in the capital. Usually they're related to the main Stark line within two or three generations, and they're fiercely loyal to them (like most of the North/Three Sisters).

Houses in the North bear the title of 'Ancient' (for any older than 400 years) and/or 'Honourable'/'Most Honourable' (awarded and stripped by the Courts depending on the House's deeds. Most Ancient is older than 1000 years.

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**The Army has several different sections:**

**The Warg Warriors:** this is the second most elite part of the Army. There are a thousand of them, and their base is on the coast of Skagos. They are all wargs, taken from their families at age five and raised to be utterly loyal to the Starks. Each is devoted to their duty. It's a mixed gender unit, the only one in the North. Every child in the Winter Lands is tested on their fifth nameday, regardless of gender or birth and it's considered the greatest honour one can receive to be chosen for the unit. While marriage and families aren't forbidden to the members of the Warriors, they are not common, as the Warriors consider it a hinderance to their duty.

**The Ice Guard:** this is the law enforcement of the Winter Lands. They ensure that no crime is committed and hunt down any outlaws or brigands. If they discover a criminal, they try them (as required by King Rickard XVI, who made a law ordering that all people be tried and found guilty before being executed.) and then, should the criminal be sentenced to death, they are sacrificed to the weirwoods according to First Men law. The Ice Guard also oversees any criminals sentenced to hard labour, ensuring they don't escape. Many landless second or third, so on, sons join this unit to be able to support their families.

**The Twilight Troopers: **the Twilight Troopers are _the_ most elite part of the Army, selected from among the Warg Warriors' best recruits. They are a force dedicated to both reinforcing the Night's Watch, defending the settlements beyond the Wall and fighting the wights. All are armed with dragonglass weapons, all are able to warg into at least three animals and are hardened warriors. They are nearly undefeatable. Only White Walkers can defeat them, and they always put up a fierce fight.

**The Army of the North: **this is the main part of the Northern Army. In 595 BC, King Artos Stark XIX decided to figure out a way to increase the population of the Winter Lands, seeing as there was so much land unused. He then made a law stating that any family with more than five children would be eligible for a decrease in the amount of taxes they had to pay, the amount lessening a bit more for each child, though there remained a minimum. This caused a huge baby boom. The consequences of this was the need to find a way to employ everyone. Artos' son, Edric VII, came up with the idea of having a standing army. They would be trained and kept ready to defend against any attacks, unlike the disorganized and untrained smallfolk levies of the other kingdoms. People flocked to the army, and their constant training has made them the greatest army in Westeros. It can field around 130,000 men altogether, slightly more than the Reach.

**The Navy of the North:** Although Brandon the Burner foolishly destroyed the entire Northern fleet in grief after his father's disappearance at sea, his son was not so short-sighted. Knowing that their lands would be vulnerable without a sea force, King Rickon restored the fleet, naming his second son Benjen as its' Admiral. Benjen took the name of 'Spraystark' and married Asha Karstark, the daughter of some of House Stark's most loyal vassals, becoming the founder of House Spraystark, which has always been involved in the Navy, along with House Starstark, founded by Elayne Stark after her father King Jonos legitimised her son Rickon Snow, borne to a pirate.

**The Courts: **these are inspired by the Cortes of Aragon during the Medieval Age. They are summoned every quarter year, and are filled with representatives of each village in the Winter Lands, as well as the nobles. It gives a chance for any grievances to be aired before the Magnar of the North, and the Magnar is bound by oath to listen and heed it. If a noble is abusing his smallfolk, for example, then if proof is presented before the Courts, the Magnar _must_ punish them. The Courts also have to be summoned for the creation of any new houses.

**House Manderly: **Although they were followers of the Seven when they fled North and were allowed to continue in that Faith by the Kings of the North so long as they didn't attempt to convert anybody, after several generations the family converted to the Old Gods. This is mainly due to the fact that evidence of the Old Gods is active in the North especially, but the Seven had never responded to their prayers. After the deaths of Willem Manderly's wife and two of his children in 383 BC, he converted to the Old Gods, blaming the Seven for not saving his family.

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**The Starks:**

**Ned: **I love Ned, but he made some stupid decisions, so I will be making him more sensible and less rigidly honourable. Although Ned _is _still honourable, he is not as rigid as in the show/books. After all, the Starks couldn't have kept hold of their power as long as they did if they were that honourable. These Starks have a ruthless streak, but they're dedicated to their duty. He spent less time fostering in the Vale here (two years, and he was twelve instead of eight when he went), so he is less inclined to accept Southron ideals. For example, he realized how stupid it would be to have a Sept in the heart of the Old Faith. He also protested Robert and Lyanna's betrothal, as he realized how ill-suited they were. He and Catelyn never fell in love, and Rickon, while he will exist, is not their son. They had Robb, Sansa, Arya and Bran as well as two miscarriages (medieval times, nobody got away without at least one tragedy in childbed). This will also have effects on Catelyn. Because Ned wasn't fostered so long in the Vale, he and Robert aren't as close, and Robert cares more about Ned than Ned does Robert.

**Catelyn: **Although Catelyn is married to the Magnar of the North, she is addressed as 'Lady Stark', not Magnara Stark, a blatant insult by the Northerners. This is because she married Ned in the Light of the Seven, and the North still holds a grudge against the Andals. The Children of the Forest are seen in the North a fair amount, and they keep the memories of the Andals' burnings and hangings that drove the First Men north alive. As such, the North refused to consider her their liege lady, and have many doubts about the legitimacy of her and Ned's marriage. She hates this, considering it a humiliation.

She doesn't have the same comfort of her faith, as Ned wouldn't build her a Sept, and Ned and she have a tense relationship. She was very cruel to Alys, in a way that we can only see as abuse, as was Septa Mordane. The Northern people also resent how she refused to preform various duties of a Northern lady she considered beneath her, such as personally overseeing the household, instead only dealing with the housekeeper and steward.

**Robb: **Robb's position as Heir to the North is unstable here, because of his mother attempting to preach the teachings of the Seven to her children and his colouring. However, because they are all loyal to the Starks, the Northerners accept him so long as he doesn't act like a Southron. Robb has to go to great lengths to prove himself, however. This led to a two year-long fostering with House Karstark, and he was never friends with Theon. Especially because of how close Robb and Alys are, and Theon frequently insulting her bastard status and making inappropriate comments towards her.

Robb is very protective of his sisters, especially Alys. She is essentially his twin, and he vividly remembers how ill she was as a child. That protective love for his sister, combined with his knowledge and resentment of how difficult Catelyn makes things, has given him a resentment bordering on hatred for Catelyn, and he blames her for pretty much anything that goes wrong. More than once he's said that should Catelyn still be at Winterfell when he becomes its Lord, he will send her to become a Septa.

**Sansa:** Sansa is still Sansa, but sweeter and she will grow up quickly. Sansa is also much closer to her siblings in this, and distant from her mother. As they were both girls, Alys and Sansa spent much more time together, and they became quite close. Sansa and Arya at first seemed as if they would have a very antagonistic relationship, but Alys intervened to prevent it. Sansa also holds a great deal of resentment towards the Seven that claim her adored older sister is a mistake and a blight on House Stark. She hides this from Catelyn, however, as she is close to her mother.

**Arya:** Arya idolizes her eldest sister. Alys is perfect in Arya's eyes, so whatever Alys does, Arya wants to do as well. This means that Arya is more agreeable to acting like a lady, so long as Alys is the one asking her to.

Out of all the Starks Arya has the worst relationship with Catelyn. Catelyn tried desperately to turn her children against their sister, and Arya was the most angered by this. She later learned that Catelyn had taken her frustration out on Alys, which increased her anger.

Although she is more ladylike, Arya is still Arya, however, and she doesn't_ like _acting like a lady, she just likes copying her sister. If Catelyn tries to get her to do something, however, she's inclined to do the opposite just to spite her.

**Bran: **Bran was recognized as a future greenseer early on, and he began his apprenticeship under Old Nan, a High Greenseer at five. He is dreamy and distant, often lost in his own head. He also has a strained relationship with Catelyn, who hates that her son is so against the 'true' gods, instead worshipping the Old Gods fervently. His best friend is Jojen Reed, who is training beside him to be a greenseer, and he is due to foster with the Reeds for a period of two years once he turns ten. Ned is also planning for a marriage between Bran and Meera Reed.

**Alyssa: **Alys is a sweet, soft-spoken girl with a core of steel. She loves her family fiercely, and hates the thought of being a 'taint' on her father's honour, as her stepmother and the Septa called her. Initially quiet but happy, when her father left for the Greyjoy Rebellion, Catelyn's abuse turned open and vicious. The result was that Alys drew into herself and became very introverted, only coming out of her shell when in private with her family and their trusted guards. Her father and siblings' reassurances and love helped, but she never quite recovered. She was traumatized by an Incident when she was twelve. She also suffers from guilt at the belief that she was the reason her father was unhappy in his marriage. She adores Ned. She enjoys artistic pursuits, horse riding and swordplay. She also enjoys learning things, and is a good balance of ladylike and independent. She is also very pious, and harbours an unacknowledged hatred of the Faith of the Seven due to Septa Mordane and Lady Catelyn. This is a link to how I picture Alyssa: .ie/pin/461619030556216921/

In this, I have Lyanna being kidnapped and forced into marriage by Rhaegar. He wasn't malicious, but he was desperate, obsessed with and terrified of the prophecy not being fulfilled. Lyanna had refused his advances in this verse, as she wasn't as desperate as in GoT because all of her brothers were against her betrothal to Robert so Rickard was hesitating and hadn't fully committed to it yet, though Robert claimed they were betrothed. Gerold Hightower and Oswell Whent helped kidnap her and they forced her into marrying him, but Rhaegar didn't tell Arthur because Ashara was already betrothed to Ned. Arthur later died defending Queen Rhaella and her children at Dragonstone.

Ashara was betrothed to Ned when Brandon Stark arrived at King's Landing, and she was arrested on suspicion of treason because of that. She was executed with her would-have-been goodfamily.

* * *

**Calendar:**

Obviously, I'm going to be using Before Conquest and After Conquest for the years and the seasons will be however long, but for the sake of keeping everything straight in my head, I'll be using January, February, March, etc. as months.

Now, timeline:

**Tourney at Harrenhal:** 3-13 April 281 AC

**Disappearance of Lyanna Stark:** 13 January AC

**Deaths of Brandon and Rickard Stark and Ashara Dayne:** 31 March 282 AC

**Rebellion declared:** 4 April 282 AC

**Battle of Gulltown:**26 April 282 AC

**Marriage of Eddard Stark and Catelyn Tully/Jon Arryn and Lysa Tully:**12 June 282 AC

**Battles of Summerhall:**15 May 282 AC

**Battle of Ashford:** 26 July 282 AC

**Battle of the Bells:** 4 September 282 AC

**Battle of the Green Fork River:** 12 December 282 AC (this is a battle that belongs entirely to this verse, and is where Ned earned the moniker of 'the Stalking Wolf'

**Battle of the Trident:** 15 January 283 AC

**Birth of Robb Stark:** 3 March 283 AC

**Sack of King's Landing:** 23 March 283 AC

**End of the Siege of Storm's End:** 20 April 283 AC

**Battle of the Tower of Joy/Birth of Queen Alyssa Targaryen:** 1 July 283 AC

**Birth of Sansa Stark:** 12 May 286 AC

**Birth of Arya Stark:** 2 January 289 AC

**Greyjoy Rebellion:**289 AC

**Birth of Brandon Stark (son of Ned):**1 November 290 AC

**Marking of Alyssa Snow and Prince Oberyn Martell:** 20 June 297

* * *

So, a reviewer asked about this:

Torrhen and Visenya were Marked shortly before Aegon began his Conquest. Because of this, as well as several predictions by the greenseers, Torrhen decided to pledge allegiance to Aegon, under several conditions. The result was that, while the North was officially subservient to the Iron Throne, their lives stayed the same and the Starks were considered the most high-ranking vassals of the Iron Throne. The Northern Army helped Aegon in his conquest, allowing it to happen quicker. The Northern Library had information on Storm's End's defences from Bran the Builder, for example.

There was no Maegor the Cruel. Aegon the Uncrowned (Aegon the Second in this verse) succeeded Aenys Targaryen. He died fighting the Faith Militant and his nine-year-old brother Jaehaerys succeeded him (Viserys died before his elder brother, also killed by the Faith). Dowager Queen Alyssa Velaryon ruled as Regent for Jaehaerys until he turned sixteen, and put down the Faith Uprising with the help of the North. Jaehaerys earned the title of 'the Conciliator' by reconciling with the Faith after taking full control of the kingdom.

There was also no Pact of Ice and Fire in this world, as the Targaryens had already married into the Starks. (The Starks have a hint of Valyrian features, but not much. Their faces aren't as long, they sometimes have purple tints in their eyes and the girls tend to have more delicate features.)

As for Cregan Stark and the Hour of the Wolf/the Dance of Dragons, in case anybody is wondering: the Starks mobilized quickly when Rhaenrya called them, due to having a standing army ready to march 24/7. They fought for her and killed her younger half-brother Aegon (a bird warg and a scorpion took him down, but it cost them all their lives. It was not an easy feat), allowing her to become Queen in her own right and ending the Dance much earlier. However, Aegon's mother Alicent was enraged, and she assassinated Rhaenyra and her son Joffery at a parley where she and her supporters were supposed to be surrendering to the Queen.

She was succeeded by her eldest son, Jacaerys Velaryon, who changed his name to Targaryen on accession, and his wife Sara Stark (born Snow and legitimized by Queen Rhaenyra out of gratitude to the Starks for their aid in the war. They died heirless, however, and his brother Aegon became Aegon III. He was never Aegon the Dragonbane though, and the dragons hung on until the last was killed during the Second Blackfyre Rebellion.

* * *

*** Credit for the Honourable and Ancient thing goes to J. K. Rowling. I added an explanation to the North part of this. The Others part doesn't include younger siblings of the Lords, nor aunts, uncles, cousins, etc. Only the main branch.**

**List of OC Northern Houses:**

**Honourable House of Starstark****: **Lord: Mikken Starstark, Admiral of the North's Western Fleet, age 34

Lady: Sybelle Starstark née Icewolf age 19 (second wife, married her after his previous wife died in the third of a series of stillbirths)

Heir: Rodrik Starstark, age 3

Others: Mikken's mother, Alysanne, age 61

**Sigil-a white direwolf with stars on a midnight blue background**

**Words-**_**We follow the Diamonds of the Sky.**_

**Specializes in seafaring, along with the Seastarks, with whom they have a rivalry that alternates between being friendly and vicious. Their keep, Wolf's Way, is a Harbour city on the coast of the Stony Shore.**

**Lystark (newest cadet house): **Lord: Benjen Lystark, younger brother of Magnar Eddard Stark. Warden of the Neck, received Moat Cailin as his seat after its' previous Lord Rickard Wolfguard died heirless in the Rebellion. Age 30

Lady: Dacey Lystark née Mormont, age 32

Heir: Rickard Lystark, age 4

Others: Lyarra Lystark, age 18 moons

**Sigil-A grey wolf's head surrounded by winter roses on a black background. **

**Words-We Will Remember.**

**Their keep is Moat Cailin.**

**Honourable House of Seastark:**Lord: Brandon Seastark, Admiral of the North's Eastern fleet. Age 57

Lady: Meriah Seastark née Royce. Age 52 (had 10 miscarriages/stillbirths out of 13 pregnancies, very fragile woman)

Heir: Rodrik Seastark. Age 32

Others: Yohn Seastark of the Ice Guard, age 27. Maege Seastark, age 18

**Sigil-a ship with a wolf's head on the prow, on a sea-coloured background.**

**Words-We Rule the Waves.**

**Specializes in Sailing. Has a rivalry with House Starstark. Their keep, Sailor's Cove, is a Harbour city near Widow's Watch.**

**The Most Honourable House of Whitewolf:** Lord: Torrhen Whitewolf, age 39

Lady: Lysana Whitewolf née Seastark, age 30

Heir: Markus Whitewolf, age 17

Other: Serena Whitewolf, age 15

**Sigil- a white wolf on a black background with gold edging.**

**Words- We Remember**

**Descended from Brandon Snow, brother to Torrhen Stark. They were entrusted with the method of creating glasshouses by the Last King of Winter, and as such are the richest House (save for the Starks themselves) in the North. Their keep, 'The White Wolf's Den' is midway through Moat Cailin and White Harbour.**

**The Most Ancient and Honourable House of Icewolf:**Lord: Alyssa Icewolf, age 68

Heir: her legitimized bastard grandson, Brandon, age 12

**Sigil-A sword of ice gripped in the teeth of a grey wolf with a black background**

**Words-First to Charge, Last to Retreat**

**Their keep is called 'The Sword's Sheath' and based on the Bay of Ice**

**The Ancient and Honourable House of Snowstark: **Lord: Ondrew Snowstark, age 5

Lady: Arya Snowstark née Whitehill, age 27 (Regent)

Heir: Branda Snowstark, age 12

Others: Jonelle Snowstark, age 9, Barbrey Snowstark, age 7

**Sigil- A blue background covered with snowflakes, with a white wolf (regular, not a ****dire wolf) in the centre.**

**Words- We Stand Strong As the Winter Snows**

**Their keep is called 'The Haven of the Gods' and based three-quarters of the way from Barrowtown to Moat Cailin**

**The Most Ancient House of Greystark:**Lord: Rodrik Greystark, age 49

Lady: His wife and second cousin, Emelia Greystark, age 33

Heir: Eddard Greystark, age 16

**Sigil-a white direwolf on a dark grey background (reversed Stark colours)**

**Words-We Repent (formerly, Ever Loyal)**

**The Greystarks once rose in rebellion during the era of the Kings of Winter. They were put down brutally, with only the baby heir spared. He was raised by the Mormonts, the Starks' most loyal bannermen, who frequently reminded him of how gracious the Starks had been not to kill him too. Ever since, the Greystarks have raised their children to be utterly fanatical about protecting the Starks. They have been offered to have their title of 'the Honourable House of Greystark' restored by the Courts, who believe they have long redeemed their ancestors' actions, but they refuse. They are the first to attack in battle, and often have to be ordered to fall back by the Starks. Their keep used to be Wolf's Den (now White Harbour) but it was stripped after their rebellion. Their current keep is the Grey's Haven, between the Stony Shore and Sea Dragon's point.**

**(All of these Houses are Major Houses sworn to Winterfell)**


	2. Alyssa 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF or GoT. This is AU. Please read, enjoy, and review.**

**Chapter One**

**Alyssa One**

_**Winterfell: 20 June, 297 After Conquest**_

Alyssa ground the pigment firmly, turning it into a fine redish-orange powder. She wiped her forehead with the back of her palm, before reaching for the egg waiting nearby on a towel so she could pierce it with a small pin and add the egg yolk to her powder. After that, she would mix it carefully, adding water whenever necessary, until her paint was ready.

Doing anything artistic always improved Alys' mood, and she hummed softly to herself as she whisked the mix. She was interrupted abruptly by the door to her bedroom slamming open and her youngest sister Arya came running in.

"Arya, be careful!" Alys exclaimed automatically as the young girl dashed over to her, uncaring of the various things that decorated the elder's room. Arya flung her arms around Alys' waist, burying her head in her sister's stomach and sobbing incoherently.

"Oh, sweetling," Alys sighed, crouching to hug her sister better and run her hand up and down her back in a soothing motion. "Shh, sweetling. Everything will be fine. Tell me what Jeyne said this time."

It had to have been Jeyne Poole who had made Arya dissolve into tears. It always was. Alys was getting fit to burst with frustration towards the spiteful girl who continuously drove her youngest sister to tears of hurt and anger. She wished that Jeyne would target her instead. But as Alys had long since perfected the art of smiling serenely regardless of any insults or cruel barbs aimed at her, and Arya couldn't control her emotions if her life depended on it, Jeyne went after the younger girl instead.

"She said that I shame Father," Arya whimpered.

Alys' eyes widened in shock at that. "_You_, shame Father?" she scoffed incredulously. "That is utter nonsense! Ignore what that brat says, darling. She's jealous of your lineage and beauty."

"I'm not pretty," Arya grumbled. "Jeyne's right when she calls me Horseface. Nobody ever says I'm pretty except you and Father."

"You do _not_ have a horseface," Alys insisted firmly. "You're only nine, Arya. You favour the Starks, that's all. Doesn't everyone say that you look so much like Aunt Lyanna did at your age?"

"Yes," Arya answered in a small voice, still clinging to Alys.

"And don't they all say how beautiful she was when she flowered?"

"Yes," Arya repeated, brightening up a bit. Arya was not particularly fond of most ladylike activities, but she was a young girl, and no girl wanted to told they were ugly and unmarriageable because of it.

"And don't we look so alike?" Alys continued. Arya nodded, starting to smile a bit. "And nowadays everyone is always commenting on how lovely I am. But I looked just like you did when I was nine. You're pretty now, no matter what Jeyne Poole says, and you'll be so _beautiful _once you flowered, that Father will have to beat off your suitors with Ice."

Arya giggled, and Alys pulled away to see her face and brush away her tears. "Do you feel better now, sweetling?" Alys asked her gently.

Arya nodded.

"Wonderful," Alys smiled. Then she grew serious. "Arya, darling. I think we ought to tell Father that Jeyne is still bullying you. He's warned her father and her to stop several times already and she has continued. It isn't acceptable for her to treat you this way. Winterfell is your home, but she only here by Father's grace."

Arya looked at the ground. "I don't want to disappoint him," she mumbled.

"Of course you don't," Alys readily agreed. "Neither do I. And you have done nothing to disappoint him. It is Jeyne who is at fault, not you, Arya."

"Mother will say that Jeyne is right," Arya said bitterly before continuing in a haughty voice, mocking her mother. "Arya Stark is no lady! Always playing in the mud and with such terrible stitching! How could I have raised such a heathen?"

The worst thing about that was, Alys reflected, that Arya was probably right. Lady Catelyn was a scornful woman, contemptuous of the North her husband ruled over. She claimed it was Alys' presence that made her son's position as heir to the Winter Lands so unstable, but that was nonsense, given that Alys was younger than Robb, a girl, and a bastard to cap it all off. In truth the reason Robb struggled so much to be accepted as heir was her.

Lady Stark's insistence on bringing a Septa with her when she married, refusal to respect Northern traditions, attempts to raise her children as followers of the Seven, and the way she had dismissed many servants who's families had served in Winterfell for generations, replacing them with servants from the Riverlands, had done much damage to Robb's position. And everyone hated the way she tried to claim the title of 'Magnara of the Winter Lands', even though Northern law forbid followers of the Faith of the Seven to claim such an exalted title.

"We are not going to speak to Lady Stark," Alys assured her sister. "Only Father. Please, Arya? I cannot bear to see you suffer, my love."

Of all her siblings, Alys could privately admit to loving Arya the most. Robb was as good as her twin, her protector and playmate. Sansa was as sweet as springtime, and always eager for Alys to tell her stories or sing to her. Bran was often lost in his greendreams, wandering around lost in his own thoughts. It was Arya, however, that Alys had a special relationship with.

As an infant, Arya had often toddled after Alys, clutching at her skirts and refusing to be soothed by anybody else. She would shriek and howl whenever Alys was gone, and be perfectly content when she was near. Alys was the only person save their father who could convince Arya to do something other than practice swordplay or play with the horses or wolf pups, and Alys in turn doted on her baby sister. She had gladly embraced the role of caretaker for the younger girl, and would do anything for her.

Arya heaved a sigh, shifting and chewing her bottom lip as she debated whether or not to inform their father of Jeyne's ongoing bullying. "You are certain that he will not be upset with me?"

"I am," Alys promised.

"Okay," Arya agreed unhappily. "But you will come with me?"

"Of course," Alys agreed instantly. She rose and took off her stained apron, wanting to speak to their father straight away, so that Arya didn't have the chance to change her mind.

Arya held her hand tightly as they hurried through the halls of Winterfell, greeting anyone they passed by name and receiving fond smiles from the Northerns, though the Southrons merely sneered at Alys in disdain. She ignored them with the ease of years' of practice.

They arrived at their father's solar, finding his guard, Jory Cassel, waiting outside with his lynx lying down beside him. Beron Wull, the nephew of the Wull clan chief and Robb's personal guard, was also there, petting his mastiff companion absently.

Jory and Beron were members of the Warg Warriors, the Winter Lands' most elite and prestigious fighting unit. Each one was trained from the age of five to be the best fighters the North could field, each was a warg, and each was dedicated to the Starks, with one being assigned to each member of the family early on. Their devotion was helped by the fact that they typically grew up seeing the Starks on a regular basis, and shared school rooms with them.

Alys' Warg guard was a Free Folk archer named Ygritte, her dearest friend, and Arya was shadowed by another Free Folk woman, Val. Ygritte was bonded to a eagle named Arrow, while Val had a white fox named Whitefang. Both women were currently off meeting with their tribes, who were visiting WinterCity for the solstice, though a sudden blizzard had delayed the day's celebrations until tomorrow.

"Jory, is Father busy?" Alys asked him. "We need to speak with him."

"Your father always has time for his girls," Jory replied with a smirk. "He's inside with your brother, going over some crop figures, I think."

"Poor kid," Beron grunted. "I hate maths."

"Me too," Alys agreed fervently. She cringed at the mere mention of maths. She was intelligent, everyone (save for Septa Mordane and her stepmother) said so. She could recite the details of a page from a book as if she were reading it aloud, even if she had only read it once. That being said, while she was _able _to do her figures, she didn't enjoy them in any way.

Mostly because she associated them with Septa Mordane's birch rod landing across her palms whenever she made the slightest mistake, or Lady Stark's scornful comments about how she would probably end up bankrupting her husband due to her apparently inborn greed, should her father manage a miracle and marry Alys off in the first place. At least, Lady Stark insisted it would be a miracle if anyone would accept a bastard in marriage. In fact, Alys' father had turned down several offers for Alys' hand already, on account of her being too young for marriage in his opinion. As well as the Incident.

Alys quickly shoved away those dark memories while Jory knocked on the door and stuck his head around to call into the room to Magnar Stark. "Your Grace, Lady Alys and Magnara Arya are here to speak with you."

"Come in girls!" Father called to them.

The two dark-haired girls entered and curtseyed to him, before darting into his open arms for a hug. Alys pulled back first, after kissing his cheek. It was scarred from an injury in the Rebellion. He had gained the scar in the same battle that had earned him the title of the 'Stalking Wolf'. Under his command, a force of 300 Warg Warriors had defeated Randyll Tarly's entire host, slaughtering them to the last man.

His raven, Serene, was perched on the windowsill beside Robb's smaller raven Talon. Alys knew that his direwolf, a large beast named Twilight, was in the kennels, hovering protectively over the litter of newly born pups. Alys made a mental note to bring Arya down to visit their new familiars after speaking with their father. That would sort out any remaining upset in her sister.

"Hello, Father," Alys murmured. "I hope we're not interrupting you?" She glanced between he and Robb as she spoke.

"You're very welcome to," Robb assured her.

"Aye," the Warden of the North agreed. "These are important, but Robb is coming along well in his lessons." Robb puffed up with pride at that, and Alys flashed him a warm smile. She knew how much he idolized their father, and how desperately he wanted to live up to Ned Stark's legacy. For sure, it was a high standard.

"And the sight of my girls is always a welcome one," Ned continued. "Though it seems that Arya was crying, a sight which I find far less pleasing. What happened to upset my fierce she-wolf?"

Arya glanced at Alys, and, after receiving an encouraging nod, explained what had happened with Jeyne. Their father scowled, causing the scars on his cheek to ripple, then kissed her forehead.

"You were right to listen to your sister and come to me about this," he said firmly. "Jeyne's family are sworn to us. It is unacceptable for her to treat a member of my family in such a manner. I will summon her father to my study immediately and inform him that he has until the end of the month to organize Jeyne's departure. I know that Vayon's brother is steward and his goodsister is housekeeper for the Dreadfort. Mayhaps she can go and stay there. No doubt Mistress Poole will quickly sort the girl out."

"Thank you Father," Arya mumbled. He smiled lovingly at her, pecking her forehead.

"This is your home, sweetling," he reminded her. "You have every right to be happy and comfortable here."

"Why don't the two of us go and check on the pups, Arya?" Alys suggested. "Leave Father and Robb to the boring stuff."

Arya's mood instantly brightened and she grinned and bounded off of their amused Father's lap. "Let's go!" she urged, running for the door. Father laughed in amusement.

"Ahh, the wolf-blood is strong in that one," he declared, for the millionth time since Arya's birth. "Go along then. We shall see you at dinner."

"Aye," Alys agreed. She curtseyed to the pair, before going over to Arya and hurrying to keep up with the spry child as she dashed through the halls to the kennels.

* * *

Late that evening, Alys was curled up on her bed, gritting her teeth in pain. "Must I truly go through this every month?" she asked Rosael miserably.

"I'm afraid so, my love," Rosael chuckled and brushed a lock of hair out of Alys' face. Rosael had been Alys' wetnurse, coming all the way from Dorne, and was the closest Alys had to a mother.

"This is awful," Alys complained.

"I know, my love," Rosael agreed, holding out a cup of something hot. "Drink this, sweetling. It will ease the pain. And think of the good side! You're a proper young lady now. Soon enough, your father'll be looking for a husband for you. Not that men haven't been asking for your hand since you grew into your legs properly."

Alys huffed and took the cup, grimacing at the taste. "Father's always says that he won't agree to any betrothals until we've each turned six-and-ten," she pointed out. "And then he wants us to wait another year after the engagement to ensure the match is acceptable to everyone." In truth, the thought of marriage made her frightened, but she knew her duty. And Alys may not have been a Stark in name, but she was still a Stark in blood, and she would never shirk her duty.

"Is there anyone in particular you have your eyes on?" Rosael asked with a mischievous smirk.

Alys shot her a glare, though it lacked any heat. "As long as he keeps his word and doesn't marry me to a burner or a brute, I'll be happy."

"Your father'd never allow any of you to marry South," Rosael declared firmly. "He loves you too much to make you or your siblings miserable by sending you South. Anyway, your brother would probably start a war to get you back to Winterfell if he did. Gods know that the boy is helpless without you."

Alys giggled, then winced at another stab of pain. She rubbed her wrist, hidden beneath her sleeve. Rosael caught the motion, a frown appearing on her face.

"Sweetling, what is it? Did you hurt your arm?"

"I don't recall doing so," Alys answered. "But it's been stinging on and off all day. I looked at it earlier and it seemed a bit red."

"Did you burn it while in the kitchens this morning?" Rosael asked, reaching out to take hold of Alys' hand to push up the sleeve so that she could see her wrist. "Or did _she_-AHH!"

She cut herself off with a shriek, staring with wide-eyed shock at Alys' wrist.

"What?" Alys exclaimed, she angled her head to see what had frightened Rosael so much, then let out her own terrified cry. The door to her room burst open a moment later, letting in several guards and her father and eldest brother, all with swords raised.

"What is it?" her father barked when he failed to spy any enemies. "Alys, what's wrong? Rosael? Somebody tell me what happened!"

Alys couldn't respond. Her breath was coming in panicked gasps, and her vision was blurring. She felt Rosael show her wrist to Magnar Stark, and heard swearing start coming from the men. But that was the last thing she heard, as she proceeded to faint from the shock and lack of air.

In a ring around her wrist, similar to a bracelet, the name _Oberyn of House Nymeros Martell _was clearly legible, in a dark, lazy scrawl that went the entire way across her slim wrist in two rows.


	3. Oberyn 1

**Chapter Two**

**Oberyn One**

_**The Water Gardens: 5**__**th**__** July, 297 After Conquest**_

The deadly look on the Red Viper's face, combined with the rumours circling of his lethal mood over the past fortnight, had everyone scurrying to get out of his way as Oberyn stalked through the halls of his brother's residence in the Water Gardens as quickly as he could.

He went right to his brother's solar, outside of which Areo Hotah stood loyally guarding the door as per usual.

Oberyn nodded to him, then went straight in, not bothering to knock. Doran didn't even glance up from the work littering his desk, continuing to scratch away with his quill.

"Well, Brother, have you finally come to tell me what has caused you to spend the past sennight throwing a tantrum and terrorizing our people?" the Prince of Dorne asked mildly.

Oberyn scowled at him, irritated by the comment (and the other problem he had). "I have not been throwing any tantrums," he bit out. "I am not an infant! I am nearly forty."

"Aye, that you are," Doran confirmed in a drawl. He set down his quill and finally looked up at Oberyn, eyebrow raised expectantly. "Well then?" he prompted. "What is distressing you so much, Brother? I admit, I was beginning to get concerned."

Oberyn scowled, opened his mouth to speak, snapped it shut again and started pacing in frustration. Despite the fact that he had deliberately come here to speak to his brother about recent events, he now found himself at a loss for words.

"Oberyn?" Doran frowned at him. "Is it the girls?"

"No," Oberyn shook his head curtly. "Obara, Nym and Tyene are still confined, and will remain so until they accept their fault in the whole disaster. The younger ones are the same as ever."

"Well, if you intend to confine your girls until they admit they were wrong, they will be stuck in their bedrooms until their deaths," Doran noted dryly. "They inherited your stubbornness."

"And my foolishness too, apparently," Oberyn muttered. The memory of the whole disaster made his temper flare. How could his daughters have been so stupid? How could his niece have possibly believed that eloping would help her cause? And to trust the Darkstar of all people! If Arianne had felt that Doran was supplanting her as heir, then she should have striven to prove she was able to be Doran's heiress.

Instead, she had tried to run away to marry Willas Tyrell, with the help of Gerold Dayne of all people. The result had been her disownment and banishment from Dorne's court, as the people could no longer trust her as their future ruler. She had ended up causing what she had tried to prevent. The whole thing infuriated Oberyn, and the fact that his eldest three daughters had thought the plan sensible, and aided Arianne with it, brought him to the conclusion that he had spoilt them too much. Clearly, he allowed them to focus too much on the things they liked, and spent too little time teaching them that actions had consequences.

"It was not your fault," Doran insisted softly.

Oberyn scoffed at that. "If the girls hadn't helped her, then she would never have gotten out of Sunspear," he pointed out.

"Ah, but Arianne had other helpers," Doran replied, lacing his fingers. "And if I had not neglected her so, then she would never have felt any of it necessary."

"Arianne created the stupid plan in the first place," Oberyn snapped, refusing to allow his elder brother to blame himself for this on top of everything else. "If she felt dissatisfied, then she ought to have come to you! She has her own mind, Doran. Do not blame yourself. If anything, blame Mellario for leaving her children without a motherly influence."

Doran pursed his lips, but changed the subject. The two of them had been arguing over which of them was more to blame for the mess since the day that Oberyn had hauled Arianne back home to face her father's judgement. They had yet to make either one yield.

"What is bothering you, Oberyn?" Doran repeated. "If not the girls, then what? It is not a significant time of the year."

Meaning it was not an anniversary of Ellaria and Elia and her babes' deaths, nor was it coming up to any of their namedays, all of which put Oberyn in a foul, vengeful mood.

Oberyn grimaced, at a loss for words. Despite having come to the Water Gardens specifically to speak to his brother on the matter, he still couldn't bring himself to say it aloud. "Have you heard any news from the North lately?" he finally asked.

Doran stared at him in bewilderment, and Oberyn had to admit that, without the knowledge he had, it was a strange thing to ask.

Dorne and the North were on opposite sides of the continent, with vastly different cultures and people. They rarely connected, save for merchants trading. To Doran, Oberyn's inquiry must've seen very puzzling and odd.

"The North?" Doran repeated. "Well, Magnar Stark sent a letter asking permission for Mikken Starstark to track down some pirates in the Sea of Dorne about a moon ago. He sent another one, and it arrived this morning, though I have yet to read it. Why do you ask? Do you know why he wrote me? I assumed it was linked to the pirates, but now I am sceptical."

Oberyn clenched his jaw, scowling at the floor. Unconsciously, he began rubbing his wrist, hastily stopping once he noticed the action.

"Oberyn, you are truly beginning to alarm me," Doran stated seriously, wheeling his chair closer to the younger of the brothers. "What in the Gods' names is upsetting you so much? The girls are well, as are my sons. What is it?"

Oberyn stared at his brother for another moment before his anger overwhelmed him.

"Damn the Gods anyway, Old and New!" he burst out. "Damn them all! Them and their blasted games! Who do they think they are?"

"Gods, I imagine," Doran replied dryly. "What has caused this recent descent into heresy of yours, Oberyn? You have never been devout, but this is new. You are being very erratic."

Oberyn gritted his teeth. "I have a Mark," he announced abruptly, spinning to look his brother in the eye. Doran's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"What?" the elder brother asked in shock.

It was probably the first time in history that Oberyn had ever managed to surprise his brother with something, Oberyn noted sullenly. That fact only worsened his mood.

"I. Have. A. Mark," he repeated slowly.

"Oberyn, that is not a good jest," Doran scolded him. "You usually have better taste then that. Marks are serious business, as you well know. And the last known Marking was-"

"I know, Doran!" Oberyn exclaimed. "I know very well how serious and rare Marks are, and I am _not_ japing! I tell you, Brother. The name Alyssa of House Stark is on my wrist and has been for fifteen days now!"

"You've been seen in five different brothels in the past month," Doran pointed out.

Oberyn growled in frustration. "And the buildings were the only thing I entered in the last two weeks," he snapped. "I tell you, this is not a joke!"

To prove his claim, he stalked over to his wheelchair-bound brother and yanked up his sleeve, shoving his wrist into Doran's line of sight to show off the delicately-written name looping its way across his wrist.

Doran inhaled sharply in shock, taking hold of Oberyn's wrist to examine the Mark carefully.

Marks were a strange, rare and mystical thing. The last one that Oberyn knew of was the one between Meriah Martell and Daeron the Good, the alliance that had led to Dorne joining the Seven Kingdoms.

Nobody understood for sure where the Marks came from, but everyone generally agreed that they came from the Gods themselves. They appeared when the younger of the couple either flowered for the first time, or, in the case of the boy being younger, had their voice finish settling. The name (and House, if they belonged to one) would appear across the other half of the pair's inside wrist in the other person's writing, which was the colour of their eyes. A person's ability to be intimate was also linked to their Marked pair, and they were always incredibly protective of each other. But very little else was known, as Marked couples were notoriously private about the details of their Markings.

The Faith of the Seven claimed that Marks were bestowed upon pious, highborn couples, as a reward for their devotion. They spun a pretty, nonsense-filled tale of the Seven gifting their most-treasured followers with the name of their perfect match, or to heal feuds between Houses or whatever reason. It was all dressed up very prettily, and conveniently ignored how only thirteen recorded Marked couples throughout all of history were Andals, and even less were highborn.

The Ironborn considered it a demand for more disciples from the Drowned God, and any time it appeared on one of their couples, the pair was sacrificed to said god. Oberyn supposed he'd had a lucky escape in that regard. Drowning would be a very mundane death for somebody with his reputation.

The Rhoynar also revered Marks, as others did. According to their beliefs, Marks were a way to guide a person to whomever had been most important to them in their previous life, as a reward for some service to the gods.

Oberyn had no idea, despite all of his travels and studies, what the First Men thought of the Marks. He did know that they considered them especially sacred. He had once seen a young woman from the North stab a man thrice her size after he'd made a crude joke in regards to the Marks. She'd labelled him a heretic and threatened to sacrifice him to a weirwood tree, but the city guard had intervened before she could do more than jam her knife into his shoulder.

Oberyn had fallen out of his bed in shock when he woke up and found a name in a violet-tinted purple written in dainty calligraphy across his left wrist. Shocked and furious and a tiny bit honoured. Despite his anger at the whole thing, however, he hadn't been able to bring himself to resent an innocent girl younger than half his children. Instead, he had spent the past fortnight hiding it and trying to pretend it didn't exist.

Unfortunately, his inability to bed anyone and the growing awareness of _something_ in the back of his mind, a sort of pull towards the North, kept him from doing so. The knowledge that he would only ever bed a single person for the rest of his life had infuriated him so much that nobody had dared to spar with him since.

"Well," Doran exhaled. "This is a great shock. Sit down," he added. "You're making my neck ache."

Oberyn sat down sulkily, his brother still examining his wrist.

"I realize that you're upset, Oberyn," Doran said to him. "But you must realize the amount of problems that this solves for our cause, do you not?"

"Aye, I know," Oberyn acknowledged grudgingly.

One of the main obstacles between Dorne and Elia's Justice was the North. The most powerful of the kingdoms, and the only people still able to use magic in Westeros, they were a formidable force. The current Magnar had also fostered alongside the Usurper in the Vale for several years up until the Rebellion broke out, and would undoubtedly call his banners for Baratheon should it be needed.

In his rare moments of rationality in regards to the Usurper's War, Oberyn could acknowledge that Stark was the best of the rebels'. He could also understand why the man had called his banners against the Mad King. There was no question of whether or not Lyanna Stark had willingly gone with Rhaegar, as she had been seen fighting against her kidnappers, not to mention the deaths of her guards and severe injuries to her handmaiden who witnessed her being taken.

And when the late Princes Brandon and Rickard arrived at King's Landing to obtain justice for the despicable actions, both of them and Ned Stark's betrothed Ashara, who had been a friend of Oberyn and his family, had all been executed brutally. Magnar Stark had also been the only one to try and gain justice for Elia and her children after the Sack, and had delivered her and her babes' bones back to Dorne personally. Oberyn was grateful for that, at least.

But the fact remained that the girl was younger than half his daughters, and had probably just barely been toddling when Lia was born. Oberyn was nearly forty! He was now chained to a child, and she herself had had her lifespan cut down considerably, as no soulmate was recorded as outliving their other half by more than a few months at most. He would also have to be more careful from now on, as any injuries he received would be felt by his young bondmate. All of it infuriated him. The awareness that Alyssa would be suffering more, given he wouldn't feel her injuries and she was the one who was going to be leaving her family to marry him made him feel guilty as well, and he loathed that.

"I am bound forever to a barbaric child whelped by the trout and the Stalking Wolf," Oberyn complained.

"Actually," Doran corrected him. "Magnar Stark's eldest trueborn daughter is named Sansa, and is a mere one-and-ten. Alyssa is his base born daughter, I believe. She must be about four-and-ten, given she was a newborn at the end of the war."

"Well that's so much better then," Oberyn sniped, though he was inwardly thankful the girl wasn't related to the Tullys. They were a bunch of arrogant, ambitious idiots. Hopefully her stepmother had not influenced his young soulmate too much. If Catelyn Stark was remotely similar to her sister Lysa and had raised her stepdaughter to act similarly, Oberyn would have to seriously consider suicide. He wouldn't allow arrogance like that, but he had no desire to be a tyrannical husband.

"We have very few spies in the North, and none long-term," Doran mused. "However, all of them agree that Magnar Stark dotes on his natural daughter. The letters that his wife sends to her family in Riverrun also mention her frequently. The woman fills pages with complaints of how the prince insists on raising the girl alongside his trueborn children, giving her an excellent education and how Alyssa and her brother Robb, Winterfell's heir, are closer than twins. The girl is also very close to her other half-siblings. With her living in Dorne, it neutralizes the North as an enemy entirely. We may even be able turn them into an ally, if the Magnars adore her enough."

"The girl will be my wife, Doran," Oberyn pointed, mouth twisting as he said the word 'wife'. "And my bondmate, also. I cannot allow her to be harmed, you know that."

Regardless of his feelings towards the whole thing and his reputation, he took his oaths seriously. Once they were married, keeping Alyssa safe would be his responsibility. He could not allow her to be harmed. Especially if she had given him any more daughters by then. He was no brute, tormenting his wife for no reason other than sick satisfaction as some men did.

There was one good side to the whole thing, Oberyn considered. Alyssa would undoubtedly give him more children. Loreza was just turned four now. He would be delighted to hold another babe in his arms again. His children would also be pleased to have more siblings. Dorea and Loreza had been very disappointed when he told them they would be the youngest.

But that made him think of Ellaria, face flushed with childbed fever, and Elia weak from her deliveries, making his mood darkened again.

"Of course not," Doran agreed to his earlier comment, bringing Oberyn back to the present. "But if the Mad King was able to hold Elia and her babes' lives over Dorne to force us to support him in the war against the Usurper, then I see no reason why we cannot use Alyssa's presence in Dorne to convince her father not to fight on the Usurper's behalf once we finally move to gain vengeance for Elia."

"And when will that be, Brother?" Oberyn demanded, a hint of bitterness in his tone. "I would like to see our sister and her children avenged before my death, and I am nearly forty already! It's been nigh on fifteen years!"

"Aye, I know," Doran agreed. "Be patient, Brother. Our plans need re-adjusting."

Oberyn grimaced at that. "So it's true then, is it?" he asked grimly. "Viserys Targaryen is dead? What of Princess Daenerys? Is there any word of her?"

Doran sighed and shook his head. "Viserys, it seems, inherited his father's mental difficulties," he grimaced. "So perhaps it is better that he and Arianne never got the chance to marry. At any rate, the boy apparently allowed himself to be convinced that, by allying with Khal Drogo of the Dothraki, he could re-take Westeros with a thousand Dothraki screamers."

Oberyn's eyebrows shot upwards. "He thought what?" he repeated incredulously.

"Aye. In order to do so, he married Princess Daenerys to the khal. However at the wedding there was an argument that escalated and resulted in Viserys' death and the Dothraki leaving, with the princess in tow."

"Nobody will accept her as Queen now, even with all other Targaryen claimants dead," Oberyn pointed out grimly. "History is against Queen Regnants in Westeros anyway. She has never stepped foot in Westeros, and with her husband..." he trailed off.

Doran sighed and nodded, grim-faced and tired. Oberyn felt a jab of guilt at the sight of it. As a child, nearly twelve years younger than Doran, he had not been close to him. Instead, Oberyn and Elia had been two halves of the same hole. But in the aftermath of their sister's brutal death, they had become closer. Oberyn was proud to be considered Doran's right-hand man, even if his brother kept his cards close to his chest.

"We _will _gain justice for Elia, Oberyn," Doran vowed, not for the first time. "I swear it. This Mark of yours will be a great aid. Having the North as an ally is always key in the wars of Westeros. Now, let me find the letter Magnar Stark sent me, and we can begin organizing your trip to Winterfell."

Oberyn sighed and nodded. He forced himself to focus on the advantages of his marriage for Dorne and Elia's Justice. The North was the only kingdom that had never fallen to any outsiders. Instead, similar to Dorne, the Mark-ordained marriage of King Torrhen Stark to Visenya Targaryen had brought them in. And ever since, whichever side the North was on in a war, _always_ won.

He glanced down at his wrist, scanning the dainty writing he had already memorized again.

_Alyssa, of House Stark_


	4. Ned 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own ASofIaF/GoT. This story was inspired by the genius that is Acquaint the Flesh by Author376 on Ao3. I highly recommend the series, it's brilliant. BTW, I have updated the Background info to add a bit more on Westeros' new history, check it out. Whenever I do that, I will tell you in the next chapter.**

**Chapter Three**

**Eddard One**

_**Winterfell: 14**__**th**__** July, 297 After Conquest**_

Ned sighed as he scanned the letter he had just read for the second time.

_The Water Gardens, 6__th__ July 297 AC_

_Dear Magnar Stark,_

_Greetings and salutations, etc. My brother, the Prince Oberyn, has indeed informed me of the honour bestowed upon himself and your daughter, the Magnara Alyssa. _

_We are organizing his journey to Winterfell in order to marry and collect his bride. His ship will leave on the 15__th__, and should take an estimated three weeks to reach White Harbour. _

_He will be bringing an entourage of about ten lords and ladies, of course not counting servants and guards, with him. Please plan accommodations for them accordingly. _

_Some of his daughters may also accompany him, though this is not definite. Several ladies will also be coming with him to act as attendants for Dorne's new Princess, as well as to aid her in learning our ways and instructing her how to be the chatelaine of Sunspear. _

_I look forward to the fruits of our new alliance._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Ser Doran Martell, Prince of Dorne, Head of House Nymeros Martell, Lord of Sunspear, etc._

How was it possible that his sweet little girl was about to be married? Surely it was only yesterday that he had first held her in his arms. She had been so small and weak, born a moon early. The journey up from Dorne had not helped matters, and he had feared daily that she would succumb to her weakness.

It had been that fear, combined with the memory of her mother's death and the knowledge that, while his other children had their mother to coddle and dote on them, Alys had only himself as a parent, even with the presence of Rosael, that had led him to keep her so close to him. He had been far more involved with his eldest daughter's childhood than was typical for a father, and he had loved every minute of it. He had proudly watched her take her first wobbling steps across the carpet in his solar, and heard her first word "Father", though, she had pronounced the "th" as "d". She had been a ray of sunshine in his life.

At least, up until he had gone away to fight in the Greyjoy Rebellion, coming back to find his soft-spoken daughter had drawn in on herself and become distant. He had been furious when he discovered the poisonous words his wife and her Septa had been pouring in her ears, daring to say she was a stain on his honour and House. Then, of course, there was the Incident with the thrice-cursed Greyjoy heir and Ramsay Snow. Thoughts of what would have happened if he and Jory had been even moments later to enter the stable haunted him.

And now, his four-and-ten namedays old daughter was to marry a man several years older than Ned himself. Not to mention what the Mark meant. Never mind the claims of the burners and Rhoynar, history was littered with proof of the First Men's belief in the meaning of Marks.

Those who were Marked were chosen by the Old Gods to perform a sacred task, one that would have implications for the entire world. As soon as Ned had realized that his daughter was Marked, his mind had jumped immediately to a certain, dangerous, possibility. He prayed he was wrong, however. He would not wish the burden of the Iron Throne on his daughter's slim shoulders for any reason. Whatever it was, it would surely involve a war, though. All of the greenseers and their apprentices had been receiving visions of a coming war. The banners would be raised before Winter's end. And Winter itself would be a long one. Summer had lasted nearly a decade now. The Gods would extract a price for that, as they always did.

Ned heaved another sigh, tugging lightly on his beard. Then, after a few moments of brooding over the fact that he had less than three moons left with his sweet girl, he rose from his chair and left the solar behind, heading for the family quarters. Jory followed obediently at his heels, his lynx, Fang, padding alongside Ned's faithful direwolf, Twilight.

Ygritte was slumped outside of Alys' door, sharpening one of her knives. She straightened and nodded respectfully to Ned when she saw them. "Alys is inside," she announced. "She's sewing."

The Free Folk archer wrinkled her pug nose at the mention of sewing. She was a spearwife, and sneered at the 'womanly arts' like sewing, arts, and such. Arya was much the same, and it reminded Ned strongly of Lyanna.

"Thank you, Ygritte," Ned stated. He paused as he reached out to knock at Alys' door. "I assume that you are going to be going with Alys to Dorne after the wedding?"

"Of course," Ygritte said firmly. "The South is filled with kneelers and burners. Gods, I'm not abandoning her to _them_," her tone was disgusted as she spoke of the Southrons.

Sometimes Ned wondered if he shouldn't try and ease the hate held by his people towards the followers of the Seven. But then, that the North Remembers was a well-known fact. Ned himself could list seventeen of the Starks who had died in the Andal invasions off the top of his head.

"Thank you," Ned said to the redhaired woman. "The Warg Warriors' loyalty to us is greatly treasured. Though it may be better if you are not so open about your opinions on them to the Dornish when they are able to hear you."

Ygritte grimaced and shrugged. "For Alys, there is little that I would not do, my Magnar," she replied. It wasn't quite agreement, but Ned let it be.

He knocked on the door, entering when Alys called out.

She was seated on her bed, stitching some Myrish lace onto a piece of white silk. It was the material he had given her to create her wedding dress, Ned noted with a pang. Gods, never mind Alys, Ned didn't think _he_ could do this. Surely everything would be fine if he put off the wedding a few more years? Maybe until forever? That wasn't too long for his daughter to wait to be married, surely? She was a babe still. His babe.

Alys smiled weakly at him, the expression not reaching her worried eyes. His heart ached to see it. None of the family had been taking the recent events well, save perhaps Sansa.

Catelyn was furious that his baseborn daughter had been honoured by the Gods, and legitimized by the Mark. Robb was distraught at losing his almost-twin, Arya was throwing regular tantrums and coming up with wild, ridiculous plans for Alys and herself to run away and join the Free Folk, and Bran kept asking Alys if she really had to go. Alys herself was clearly upset and frightened, but was putting on a brave face. Ned knew his girl, however, and he could read the restrained fear in her violet-grey eyes.

Sansa was the only one excited. She kept proclaiming how exciting all of it was, and asking Alys if she could come and visit her in Dorne. The suggestion had infuriated Catelyn even more, and she had snapped some very rude things about Dorne. That had upset Alys even more, which Robb had picked up on. He had promptly berated Catelyn, and the whole keep had been lost in chaos from the familial drama.

"Good afternoon, Father," Alys murmured. "Can I do something for you?"

Ned pulled the chair out from her desk and perched on it, leaning forward to look her in the eye. Not for the first time, his heart ached at her resemblance to Lyanna. If only...

He forced the 'what if's away and cleared his throat. "I received a letter from Prince Doran earlier," he told her gently.

Alys froze briefly, before continuing to carefully stitch the lace onto the fabric. "Oh?" she asked casually. At least her ability to hide her feelings would be of great benefit in the South, where everything revolved around the thrice-cursed Game of Thrones. "What, ah, what did it say, may I ask?"

"Prince Oberyn and his entourage shall be arriving at White Harbour in about three weeks' time," he told her gently. "The wedding will take place here, before you leave for Dorne."

"I see," Alys mumbled. She was staring fixedly at her sewing, chewing her lip.

"He will be bringing several ladies with him," Ned added. "In order to teach you about living in Dorne and its ways."

"Rosael has been telling me things about the country," Alys stated. "But she wasn't a noble, of course."

"No," Ned agreed. "She wasn't." He was very grateful to Rosael.

She had been hired from a nearby village to help Lyanna during her pregnancy by Ser Gerold and Ser Oswell, and had done her best to save his sister's life. When that had failed, she had begged him to let her come and care for Alys, acting as Alys' wetnurse, seeing as Rosael's own babe had been stillborn just a few weeks earlier and she still had milk. When he asked about her husband, she had informed him that he had died in the war, and she had nothing left but her promise to Lyanna to watch over her child.

Alys bit her lip. Her eyes shimmered when she met his gaze. "Papa, I'm sorry," she said plaintively.

Ned shook his head immediately, dismissing that. "Sorry? What could you possibly be sorry for, my darling girl?"

"My trousseau," Alys told him miserably. "It won't be finished in time."

"What do you mean?" Ned frowned. "I remember that Catelyn told me she was starting Sansa and Arya's trousseaus when they turned eight. Surely yours was started at the same age?"

Alys' bottom lip trembled in distress as she shook her head. "No, Father," she denied. "We started my trousseau only this year, when you began speaking to Lord Karstark about possibly betrothing me to Torrhen. I have the skirt of my wedding dress done, though not the train, and three dresses mostly-finished. But a trousseau for the wedding of the eldest daughter of the Warden of the North to a Prince of Dorne ought to have at least two dozen sets of day dresses and feast wear each, a minimum of seven pairs of shoes, not to mention jewellery, shawls, all that sort of thing. It will never be ready in time, and our House will be shamed!"

She burst into tears as Ned mentally added _'And Alys will be embarrassed in front of her betrothed and future people.'_ He pulled her into a hug, rubbing her back and murmuring soothingly to her.

"I take it," he said, careful to hide his anger beneath an even tone. "That Lady Catelyn is the source of this, given she is in charge of such things."

Alys didn't reply, but that was enough of an answer for Ned.

"I see," he stated. "Very well, we will do what we can. Tomorrow, you will go into the city and visit the seamstress. Have her take your measurements and ask her to make as many dresses as she can in next month. Then in the evening the two of us will go to the vaults, and you will pick the five pieces of jewellery allocated to you by tradition."

Alys pulled back, looking at him with wide, nervous and hopeful, red-rimmed eyes. "Are you certain, Father?" she asked anxiously. "That tradition is for trueborn daughters of the House. Lady Stark will-"

"I care not what Lady Stark thinks," Ned cut her off. "And you have been legitimized, have you not? One blessing to come from these events. At any rate, I had always intended for you to be given five pieces from the vaults. Whatever your surname, you are my blood. My eldest daughter and the first of my children that I held. You have every right to Winterfell and our family heirlooms."

She leaned in to hug him again, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her head in his chest. "Thank you, Father," she said, voice hoarse with emotion.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead and rocked her gently. He tried not to wonder how many more times he would be able to do so before she was whisked across the continent. "I love you, sweetling," he told her gruffly. "So very much. Never forget that."

* * *

Later that evening, he wandered down to the crypts with Benjen at his side. The Lord of Moat Cailin had arrived with his wife, Lady Dacey Lystark née Mormont, and their two children, Rickard and Lyarra, just before dinner. They had been greeted with great delight by Ned's children, who all adored seeing their uncle, aunt and cousins.

The two brothers stopped in front of the tombs of their father, brother and sister, staring solemnly at the stone effigies of their lost loved ones.

"Do you ever regret that I refused to allow you to enter the Watch?" Ned asked abruptly, after several moments of respectful silence. Ben gave him a surprised look, then shook his head.

"I used to, I confess," Ben admitted. "But you were right when you said that I was too young. Three-and-ten is too young to decide to give up on family. I wanted to go because I felt that what happened to Lya and everything that came after was my fault and I believed it would be an acceptable punishment, if inadequate. But you insisted that you needed me, that your children needed me. And I'm much happier than I ever would have been at the Wall, though you know I have nothing but respect for those brave men."

"Aye, I know," Ned agreed. "I'm glad that you're happy. And I did not lie when I said that I needed you. I was not meant for this, nor trained for it. Brandon was, and yet the irony of life is that I now have all that was meant to be his. The North, Winterfell, even the wife. Is it not a bitter jest?"

"Bitter indeed," Ben agreed. "But you're wrong. You _were_ meant for this. I loved him dearly, but Bran was always too reckless, too free-willed to be tied down as Magnar. You are a better Magnar than he could ever have been, regardless of what you think."

"Thank you, Ben," Ned replied hoarsely. He hesitated then told him, "I gave her Lya's maiden cloak. This afternoon, I took her to my solar and gave it to her." Alys had been shocked when, after their discussion, he had taken her to his solar, pulled out the chest where he kept Lya's things, and handed over the cloak. He'd told her it was Lyanna's, and she had initially attempted to refuse to accept it, but Ned had insisted. As Lyanna's only child, it rightly belonged to her now.

Benjen swallowed, looking pained. "Good," he said hoarsely. "That, that's good. She ought to have it. Have you told her yet?"

Ned stiffened, then shook his head, not looking at his younger brother, because he knew what he would see.

"You always said that you would tell her when she was betrothed." His tone wasn't accusing, but Ned bristled anyway.

"She's too young," he insisted, tone defensive.

"She's about to wed the_ Red Viper_," Benjen shot back. "Too young or not, she must know the truth. I agreed with you that it was too much for a young girl to keep to herself, but things have changed.

It was easy to hide her similarities to _him_ while she grew. Almost nobody here in the North ever saw _him._ And it's easy for a young girl to bare similar features to her aunt. But Dorne had many who served in Aerys' court, or attended Princess Elia after she married the Prince. Somebody will spy the eyes, the cheekbones, hear her sing. Then they will do some basic maths, recall that Lya died of a fever in Dorne and you returned from there with a babe. The secret cannot be kept forever, Ned."

Ned shook his head, refusing to listen. "I hold you to your vow of silence, Brother," he declared. "Alys' safety is too important."

"I know," Benjen snapped. "And it is her safety that I think of! She needs to know, to deflect any suspicion from herself! You know as well as I, the likelihood of her sacred task _not_ being to reclaim the Iron Throne for the Targaryens-"

"Shh!" Ned cut him off sharply. "The walls have ears. The secret has been held for a decade and a half, and it will stay known only to the two of us, Rosael, Howland, Yorin and Jory."

Ben huffed in frustration. "The realm is being torn apart by Baratheon's rule, Ned," he warned. "You know that better than I."

Ned nodded curtly in acknowledgement of that. He cared for Robert, or perhaps it was better to say that he cared for the man that Robert had been before the war. Robert had been jolly and carefree. He had reminded Ned of Brandon, though he was aware that Robert held him in higher esteem than he held Robert. The man had never been a good lord, and he was a worse king.

"The Crown is about six million dragons in debt, according to the last letter from Jon," Ned grimaced. "Most of it to the Lannisters, the rest to the Iron Bank."

"So, he's driving the realm into debt, insulting everybody save his goodfamily, even his own blood, and prefers to spend his time visiting brothels and hunting, leaving running the realm to the Hand," Benjen summed up the situation. "Not to mention giving a disturbing amount of power to the Lannisters, damn them.

The smallfolk will not stand for it forever, and he has no firm allies save the Vale and the Westerlands. The Dornish are merely bidding their time to gather their strength before taking revenge for Princess Elia and her children. Anybody who doesn't see that is a blind fool. We cannot aide Baratheon when Dorne rises against him. Not when Alys and her future children will all be there. Nor do I particularly want our people to die for such a man."

"Aye," Ned sighed. "Aye, I know Ben. Just, a little longer. I will tell her, I promise. Just not yet."

Ben gave him a knowing look. "Rhaegar Targaryen may have sired her, but you are her father, Ned," he told the elder brother gently and sympathetically. "Alys will not forget that, just because you tell her the truth. But the longer you put it off, the more hurt she will be."

Ned didn't reply, staring gloomily at the stone effigy of his lost sister._ 'Forgive me, Lya,'_ he thought, not for the first time. _'Forgive me for failing you, Sister.'_


	5. Alyssa 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own ASofIaF/GoT. Read, enjoy and review (though, if you're unhappy with it, don't bother reading. Rude reviews will do nothing but piss me off. Nobody's forcing you to read this, so if you don't like it, don't bother.) Sorry to most of you, but a few people sent flames complaining about my characterization of Catelyn, ignoring the 'not for Tully fans' in the summary and it pissed me off. But thanks to everyone else, I'm glad so many like this. I didn't expect it to be so popular, so quickly. It's wonderful.**

**Chapter Four**

**Alyssa Two**

_**Winterfell: 12**__**th**__** August, 297 After Conquest**_

Alys kept her head bowed and her hands clasped respectfully as she prayed fervently to the gods. She prayed for strength to survive in a foreign land, surrounded by strangers and burners. She prayed for a peaceful marriage. She didn't mind if it wasn't a _happy _union, so long as it wasn't _unhappy. _She prayed not shame herself or her father and House Stark. Most of all, she prayed for guidance and success in fulfilling whatever task it was that the gods had entrusted to her and Prince Oberyn.

'_Please,' _she begged silently. '_Do not allow me to fail You. Grant me the skills and ability that I need to do whatever it is You require me to do. Please.'_

"Alys!" Arya cried, her boots making the snow crunch beneath them as she darted into the clearing. "Alys!"

"Arya, you mustn't yell or run in a godswood," Alys chided her sister gently as she climbed to her feet, brushing the snow off of her long, navy woollen skirt. "Tis disrespectful towards the gods."

"Sorry," Arya mumbled, before quickly rushing on with her announcement. "Father sent me to fetch you and tell you to get ready. The stupid Dornish are almost at the city gates. They're here to take you away already!"

The nine-year-old girl had an indignant scowl on her face as she spoke. Alys sighed, resisting the urge to rub her forehead tiredly.

"Arya, you are a Magnara of House Stark," Alys frowned and planted her arms on her hips. "Do not speak in such a manner, 'tis unbecoming and rude. The Dornish are not stupid, merely different. And I'm not to leave just yet. Father said that he expects that it will take at least a sennight for the marriage contract to be worked out between him and the Prince. And I expect we will spend a day or two here after the wedding."

She hoped so, at any rate. Her heart ached at the thought of leaving behind Winterfell and, more importantly, her brothers and sisters and father. How would she ever manage, being so far from her father's rare smiles, Robb's protectiveness, Sansa's sweetness, Arya's wildness and Bran's dreaminess? At least Rosael and Ygritte had both promised to come with her to Dorne. She would not be completely alone.

'_The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives'_ the old saying drifted through her mind, and she shivered slightly, pulling her cloak tighter around her to disguise her fear from her sister.

Arya scowled. "It's not fair!" she whined, stamping her foot at the ground sullenly. "Why do you have to leave? I still think that the two of us should run away to join the Free Folk Beyond-the-Wall."

Alys sighed, wrestling her frustration under control. Her siblings, save Sansa who was giddy with excitement about the whole thing, were all wrapped up in how _they_ would be affected by Alys' marriage. None of them had asked, nor did they seem remotely concerned about how _Alys _felt, having to leave her family and home behind to marry a man older than their father with a less-than-stellar reputation. All of them were too focused on feeling sorry for themselves to care about the fear Alys felt at marriage in general, and the other implications of her Marking.

Alys was not a fool. She had sat in on her brother's lessons from the start, including the political ones he needed for his future role as Warden of the North. The North did not play the Game of Thrones, but Magnar Stark needed to, in order to protect and guide the North properly.

She knew perfectly well that it was very likely that she and any children she bore would be hostages when Dorne eventually rose against the Crown. And it surely would. Even Rosael, who had been a member of the smallfolk all her life and a resident of the North for over a dozen years, spoke fondly of the late Princess Elia and damned the Lannnisters and their men for her death. It was only a matter of time before the Dornish decided to strike, and when all of it eventually came to a head, Alys had no doubt that she would be used to either make her father at least stay neutral or else aid the Dornish in their cause. The thought frightened her to death.

Combined with the fact that everyone knew that the greenseers were predicting a winter twice as long as the summer had been, and a war on top of all that (though Alys only knew that because Bran had come to her bed after dreaming of a battle), and Alys feared the meaning of her Mark. Surely it was too much of a coincidence for her to be Marked for some sacred task at the same time as war brewed in her betrothed's homeland?

But Alys forced herself not to get annoyed with her younger sister. Arya had only seen nine namedays, after all. She wasn't intentionally ignoring Alys' distress. None of her siblings were. They just hadn't looked for it. She shouldn't feel hurt at that. It was selfish of her. And it wasn't right, for her younger siblings to be worrying about her. She was the older one, _she_ looked after _them_. Not the other way around. Who would look after them when she was in Dorne?

"Arya, I am Marked," she explained patiently, for the millionth time. "I have no choice, I must marry Prince Oberyn. The Gods themselves have demanded it. And because I am marrying him, I must go to live in Dorne, as my place as his wife is in_ his _homeland, not here in the North."

"But why are you the one who has to leave?" Arya demanded. "It's not fair that women have to leave their lives behind for their husbands! Why should we have to give up everything for them, and obey them? Why not the other way around? Why should you feel his injuries, and he not feel yours, just because you are the woman half of your Marks?"

That was a part Alys felt exceptionally bitter about too. Little was known about the Marks, as Bondmates were notoriously secretive about their bonds. Though, since the name had appeared on her wrist, Alys had read everything she could find on them. So much of it was theory and guesswork, however. One thing that was known for sure was that, whenever Daeron the Good or Torrhen Stark, the Final King of Winter had been injured, Myriah Martell and Visenya Targaryen had felt their husbands' pains. Visenya had lost a child to miscarriage because of it. But as far as anybody knew, the men had not felt their pain in turn.

Considering her husband-to-be had a reputation for getting into duels, Alys was hoping that her pain threshold was high enough to cope with it. She also prayed nothing would happen when she was with child. She didn't think she'd ever be able to cope with losing a babe. She still had nightmares of her stepmother's miscarriage four years past.

"It's not fair at all," Alys agreed tiredly. "I cannot say why it is this way. But it is the way of the world, my love. We cannot change it. We must simply make the best of the hand the Gods deal us, or else dwell in misery for the entirety of our lives. Would you prefer me to sulk in grief all my life, or else to try and be as happy as I can?"

"Be happy, I suppose," Arya sniffed, bottom lip trembling unhappily. "But I still don't like it! I want you to stay here, with us!"

"I want to stay here too, sweetling," Alys agreed, opening her arms so that Arya could run into her embrace and bury her head in Alys' stomach. "So very much. But we cannot deny the will of the Gods. You know that. We are all put on this earth to serve them, and they have made my path clear. I promise, I will write to you as often as possible. It will be like I'm still here."

"No it won't," Arya pouted. "Will you come and visit?"

"I will try," Alys replied non-committally.

She was unwilling to make a promise that would not be fulfilled, especially in a godswood. That was just asking for trouble. But while she dearly hoped to return to Winterfell at some point in the future, even just for a few days, she knew that such a decision would be up to her husband. She sighed, pressing a kiss to the top of Arya's unruly hair. It didn't matter how often she repeated it in her mind, the thought of being married still made her stomach churn in terror.

Gods, how she wished things had gone the way her family planned and she was to marry Torrhen Karstark instead. She knew him, liked him well enough, and she'd be near her family. Not to mention no Northerner would ever treat a Stark, base born or not, with any disrespect or cruelty. The House was too well-loved and respected by the people they ruled, Quality and smallfolk alike.

If anything had ever happened in her marriage to Torrhen, she could have easily returned to Winterfell with any children, and she knew her family would have welcomed and sheltered her. That wasn't an option with her marrying Prince Oberyn. It would start a war with Dorne, and there would be no way for her to keep any children with her. Not to mention that bonded couples who were separated by more than a certain range (tentatively believed to be several hundred miles, though that wasn't known for certain. Some maesters and scholars theorized it varied from couple to couple) for more than a few weeks, started to become weak and sick. Leaving her husband would not be an option at all.

"Come along, sweetling," she ordered her sister gently, pulling out of the embrace. "We must go and get ready to greet our guests."

Arya looked mutinous, and Alys decided she had best intervene quickly, before the wildest of the Stark children ended up mortally insulting the Dornish delegation.

"Arya, sweetling," Alys began, leaning down to look Arya in her grey eyes and clasping her hands in her own. "I need you to promise me that you will do something for me. Tis very important."

"I promise, I'll do it," Arya promised instantly, despite not knowing what the task Alys had for her was. Alys smiled fondly, reaching out with one hand to run it lovingly through her sister's dark locks. She would miss Arya so very much.

"Be polite to the Dornish," Alys instructed her. Arya's expression went from eager to upset instantly, but Alys went on. "Act properly, show them what a wonderful daughter House Stark has to be proud of. Please."

"Why," Arya demanded sulkily. "They're taking you away," she repeated yet again, as if Alys wasn't sharply aware of that fact already.

"I know," Alys agreed. "And that's why I need our family to make a good impression on them. I will be living among these people for the rest of my life. I do not wish for them to be displeased with me. It would make my life very lonely, do you not think?"

'Lonely' was only a small fraction of what could happen to her should her husband-to-be be displeased with her, but Alys wasn't about to think about that. She certainly didn't intend to say anything to her little sister about it. Rosael had said that Prince Oberyn wasn't known to be a cruel or malicious person, but he had a quick temper and, given his reputation, Alys doubted he would be pleased to be bound entirely to one young maiden.

Arya bit her lip in a mirror of Alys when she was thinking deeply, then nodded reluctantly. "Okay," she said unhappily. "I suppose if you really need me to give a good impression, then I won't be rude to them. But only because you're the one who asked me to be nice. Not because I don't still hate them all for stealing you."

"Thank you, Arya," Alys sighed in relief. "And no one is stealing me. I am marrying my betrothed, that's all. It's something almost every woman must do at some point. This is just sooner than expected, that's all. Now come along. We must tidy ourselves up quickly to greet the Dornish, and I expect they're within the city walls by now."

Actually, she knew that they were within the walls. She could sense the presence of her soulmate, growing ever stronger as he neared Winterfell. But she wasn't about to say so. She didn't know why, but discussing the details of her Mark made her feel uncomfortable and violated. Mayhaps that was why the previous Marked couples refused to discuss them. Or maybe it was just her.

She said nothing about the thoughts running through her head, instead grasping Arya's smaller hand in her own and walking back towards the keep, hoping her nerves weren't showing on her expression.


	6. Oberyn 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT. Thanks to everybody who's been sending such kind reviews. To Queenie, I was not targeting you. I have this posted on both the GoT fandom under 'A Clash of Crowns' and the ASoIaF fandom/Ao3 as 'A Song of Marked Souls'. I was responding to **_**several**_** rude reviews. But in regards to your one, please take into account that these chapters are all biased to the views of the people narrating. Alys dislikes Catelyn/the Faith because she's had bad experience with them. A chapter written from the perspective of Catelyn herself would have a different way of thinking. Again, thanks to those reviewers who have been so kind and complimentary about this story, I really appreciate it. Also, I was alerted to a mistake in Sansa's description, and have since fixed it. She is closer to her mother than her siblings, but is still more Northern than Catelyn, creating a divide.**

**Now, on with the story, as always read, enjoy and review**!

**Chapter Five**

**Oberyn Two**

_**Northern Kingsroad: 12**__**th**__** August, 297 After Conquest**_

"Papa, I'm coolldd," Loreza moaned, cuddling closer to his chest from her position in front of him on the horse he'd borrowed from Lord Manderly.

"Me too," Dorea agreed from where she was riding with Sarella, shivering despite being covered in several furs and wearing no less than three layers of woollen dresses and stockings.

"Me too, dearest," Oberyn agreed, rubbing his youngest daughter's back to try and warm her up. He had been worried over his children's reactions to his unexpected Marking, and they had varied in their reactions.

Obara, Nym and Tyene were still confined, but each had said that they would try and be kind to the girl, so long as she was polite to them. Sarella had been more interested in the actual Mark than getting a stepmother nearly three years her junior. She had asked him many questions, but Oberyn had found himself uncomfortable answering them. She had asked to come with him to the wedding, and he had willingly agreed, happy to have several of his girls present.

Elia and Obella, the only ones of his daughters to remember and love their mother (Obara remembered her mother, but her manner was cold whenever the topic came up. Oberyn often regretted collecting her the way he had, and not allowing her mother, Alerie, to keep in contact. Especially when he learned the woman had drunk herself to death within a year of losing her daughter.), so Oberyn had been unsurprised at their upset.

"You are replacing Mama!" Obella had snarled at him, tears shining in her eyes. Elia had refused to even speak to him from after he'd broken the news until he'd left. He had tried to explain to them that he had no choice in the matter, and that nobody, not even his soulmate, would ever replace Ellaria in his heart. But they were young and grieving, and refused to listen.

His two youngest girls, however, had latched onto the 'mother' part of the word stepmother. Ellaria had died birthing Loreza, when Dorea was only a year old. They had no memories of her, and yet were now old enough to realize that their friends had a mother to dote on and care for them, not a string of Septas. The prospect of having a mother had delighted them. They had insisted on coming to meet her, and Oberyn had been unable to refuse them. He only hoped that Alyssa would not disappoint his girls. Marked or not, he could never care for, let alone love, someone who did not love his daughters.

None of them had enjoyed the three week long ship journey, and they had arrived in the middle of a fierce snow storm, as apparently the Northern weather was unaware that it was still summer. Oberyn had been ready to kiss the ground in thanks that they hadn't wrecked. At least he had been until they disembarked and been hit by a gust of freezing wind while greeting Vice Admiral Wyman Manderly, the Lord of White Harbour and a grizzled veteran who had been introduced as Captain Even Glover, a member of the Ice Guard who had been sent along with several others by Magnar Stark to escort Oberyn and his party safely to Winterfell.

"This, Little Princess, is not cold," Lieutenant Edric Snow, another of their escorts, chortled. "It's quite warm, in fact."

"No," Dorea protested. "It's even colder here than, than, than anywhere else in the world! 's not warm at all."

"It _is_ not, Lady Dorea," Septa Evaine corrected her in a frustrated tone. "Speak properly child. You are a lady."

"A lady of five," Oberyn drawled out. "And only just. There is no need for you to correct my daughter when I am with her, Septa. If I feel they need correction, I will do so myself."

The septa grimaced but nodded. Oberyn wouldn't be surprised if they would require a new septa soon enough. Or perhaps it was not so important now, with his wedding occurring soon. He dismissed that quickly from his mind, turning his attention back to his daughters.

"Lieutenant, would you answer me this, please?" Sarella asked, leaning forward on her own horse. They had borrowed them from White Harbour, on the understanding that they would be returned when they arrived to sail back to Dorne. Oberyn had inquired about a wheelhouse, but apparently the Northerners didn't use them often enough for there to be ones available for ready use. Lord Manderly claimed they were too impractical with the snow and the roads weren't suited for them.

In his own opinion, however, their roads were in such good shape, Oberyn doubted you would even feel the wheelhouse moving.

According to the Ice Guards, a common punishment for criminals who hadn't done enough to deserve death was hard labour, which often included repairing any damage to the Kingsroad and keeping it clear of any snow and ice. It was in even better shape than the Crownlands' part of the road. Oberyn would have to mention the idea to Doran, as Sarella's questioning of their escorts had already revealed the anger the Northerners felt towards the South sending criminals to the Wall. It was viewed as a great insult, apparently, and Oberyn was under strict instructions to figure out how to make the Winter Lands as friendly to them as possible. There was no need to aggravate their new allies more than necessary. They wanted the North's _help_ in overthrowing the Usurper, after all. Not just their neutrality to preserve his bride's safety. Almost all of Doran's new plans demanded the North as _friends_ to Dorne, not just reluctant allies.

"You may, Princess," Lieutenant Snow agreed.

They had corrected him and the other Ice Guards several times already, saying that the Sand Snakes were ladies, not princesses, but the Northerners persisted in calling them as such anyway. Seeing the slight sparkle in his girls' eyes whenever they were addressed as such had made Oberyn regret his and Doran's lack of ability to legitimize them without permission from the Usurper (which had been refused the one time Doran had broached the subject), and worry that he had failed them somehow. Did they feel less, just because they did not bare the Martell name? Was that part of the reason why his eldest children had acted so recklessly?

"What do the First Men believe about the Marks?" Sarella inquired. "The Faith says they are rewards for pious highborn couples, and the Rhoynar consider them to be a way for the gods to guide people they favour to the one who meant the most to them in their past life, but I could not find any answer as to what the followers of the Old Gods believe."

Lieutenant Snow's cheerful mien turned serious. "The Marks are a mixed blessing," he said after a moment. "To us, they are a sign that something is coming. Those Marked are chosen because they, of all the people alive, have the skills necessary to do some sacred task for the Gods. And given what the greenseers have been saying-"

"Lieutenant!" Captain Glover snapped. He shot Snow an angry look before continuing in the Old Tongue. Oberyn didn't speak the Old Tongue, so he had no idea what they were saying, but Edric looked abashed afterwards and he switched positions with a grim, scarred man named Sergeant Ashwood, who was significantly less inclined to answer questions.

Oberyn was left to contemplate the new information while rubbing Loreza to keep her warm against his chest as he guided the stallion. The greenseers, he knew, were the ones who tended the weirwoods, and supposedly they could tell the future. Had they seen something to do with his and Alyssa's Marks?

The belief made sense, Oberyn had to admit. After all, all of the Marked pairs throughout history had done something that had led to them being revered and remembered, beyond their Markings. But why had Captain Glover stopped Edric from going on? What were they hiding?

"Papa, I'm hungry," Dorea complained, interrupting Oberyn's brooding over the First Men's apparent belief that he and Alyssa had some special mission given to them by the gods.

He smiled over at her lovingly. "Just wait a little longer for dinner, my dearest," he said to her. "Eat this while you wait," he handed her and Loreza some bread and cheese from his cloak pocket to snack on before pointing ahead of them.

"Look there, do you see that wall?" The girls followed his finger and squinted at the high stone wall rising to meet them. He made a mental note to have Dorea's eyes checked in case she needed spectacles. He had noticed her squinting a lot on the ship.

"Yeeesss," she dragged out the word, and his smile widened, though he didn't feel as pleased as his tone came out.

"That's Wintercity," he informed her. "Just beyond it is Winterfell, where we're going."

"That's where we're going to meet our new mother?" Loreza asked excitedly.

"That's where we will be meeting my new wife, yes," Oberyn confirmed.

"Will she like us?" Loreza fussed.

"She will adore you, Little Princess," Private Gendry Snow, the youngest of their Northern escort who was riding slightly ahead of them turned back in his seat to respond, before Oberyn got the chance to soothe his daughter's worry. "Magnara Alyssa loves children dearly. I can't even hazard a guess as to how often she would head down to the City School to volunteer to help with the young ones. She will be delighted to be your new mother, I promise."

He seemed very genuine, and very fond of Oberyn's betrothed, the Viper noted. He had noticed that already, of course. All of the Northerners clearly respected and valued their lieges greatly. If that feeling was spread throughout the North, he mused, and had held for generations, then it was no surprise that the Starks had held onto their positions for so long. These were people who would not bat an eyelid before giving their lives for their lords.

"You've mentioned that before," Sarella stated. "What do you mean by school?"

"It's law here in the North, has been for centuries," Gendry replied matter-of-factly. "All children attend school from age five to ten, learning reading, writing, the history of the kingdom, that sort of thing. King Artos XVII 'the Scholar Wolf' made it law, and it has strengthened our people greatly."

"That's amazing," Sarella exclaimed. "Truly, everybody learns? Not just the highborn?"

"Aye," he confirmed. "Everyone, boy or girl, peasant or noble. Have you heard the phrase 'knowledge is power'? King Artos was the one who said that. He built the University of Wintercity as well. There's a statue of him just outside the University."

Oberyn had to admit, he was impressed. It was a radical, progressive idea, teaching peasants and not just nobles, and the North had been doing it for centuries! And girls as well. Another thing to mention to Doran. At this rate, he would need to write a list. Given the Starks had had eight millennia to perfect the art of ruling, Oberyn was willing to be utterly shameless in stealing their ideas for his own people's benefit.

"Could I visit while we are staying at Winterfell?" Sarella asked hopefully.

"Aye, of course," Gendry scoffed. "Tis open for all. Of course, if you are not a student or a Scholar than you can only visit the public areas, but the Great Library is one of them, so I expect that you'll be fine." He grinned knowingly at her.

"Is it true that they have copies of every book ever written there?" Sarella asked.

"If it isn't, it's near enough to it," Gendry replied. "There are twenty-six stories, one for each of the Common Tongue alphabet, and the Library itself is twelve miles wide and fourteen long. And there's so many shelves, it's hard to move."

Even Oberyn's eyes widened in amazement at that. There was no more time to talk, however, as they had finally come up to the gate. It was a large metal pull-up gate, designed to resist the strongest attacks from battering rams. Loreza squirmed excitedly in his arms, and he tightened his grip on her to keep her from sliding off.

"Who goes there?" the armoured Ice Guard at the top of the watch tower called down, his voice amplified through a long horn. "And what is your purpose?"

Captain Glover pulled his own, smaller horn off his belt and replied through it. "Captain Even Glover of the Ice Guard, escorting Prince Oberyn of House Martell and his party to marry Magnara Alyssa of House Stark!"

"Password?" the watchman demanded. Captain Glover replied in the Old Tongue, and it evidently satisfied the guard, because he and his companion began to crank the wheel, pulling up the gate to allow Oberyn's group to trot inside.

"This is so exciting, Papa!" Dorea squealed, her brown eyes dancing with delight as she clapped eagerly and looked around at the square.

"This is the garrison," Captain Glover informed them gruffly. "We'll show you to some rooms to tidy yourselves up quickly, then take you through the city to the keep."

"Much appreciated," Oberyn nodded.

He would be pleased to get into some clean clothes, though they would be as ill-fitting as the ones he currently wore. They had not been prepared for the coldness of the North, despite bringing the warmest clothes they had, and it had necessitated them buying pre-made clothes from the tailors in White Harbour. Not to mention every fur they could find. Even with that, Oberyn was still cold enough that he had been wary of even unlacing his breeches to piss. It would be difficult to consummate his marriage if his balls got frostbite and fell off, after all. He hated that his retinue was not going to look as impressive as he had hoped it would, however. Still, he would make do. He always did.

* * *

It took a further two hours for them to reach Winterfell. They had taken an hour to wash up quickly and change, then another hour to get through the town, guided by only Captain Glover and Private Gendry this time. It was as big as King's Landing, and cleverly designed. Whoever had designed it had clearly had more sense than the builders of the capital.

The town was laid out like a spider's web, with the houses in the centre, protected by the guards that patrolled the streets, and the shops closer to the walls. Between the markets and the living quarters of the town was a series of streets containing the City School, several parks which each held a weirwood, and bathhouses that sent out wafts of heat. The more upper-class areas were separated from the lower ones, but only for houses. Shops and other businesses were sorted by the product they sold, and a lovely smell of baking bread, hot stew and pine trees hung over the city, a wonderful contrast to that of King's Landing. There were braziers lit and placed at regular intervals to combat the cold weather, though they didn't do close to enough in Oberyn's opinion. The large wall surrounded the entire place, with Ice Guards patrolling. Oberyn noted it was decorated with various glyphs he presumed were Old Tongue words. On the opposite side of the city from the entrance, they passed by the University. It was about the size of Sunspear itself.

According to Gendry, two of the four towers were living quarters, one was for lessons, one was labs, studies and such, and the rest of the place was the Library. It was shocking to think such a place was real and unexaggerated, and Oberyn silently promised that he would make time to visit whilst staying at Winterfell. Going to the Great Library of the North was too exciting and rare a chance for anyone with an interest in knowledge not to take.

Finally, they headed through a tunnel and came out in front of Winterfell itself.

It was larger than the Red Keep, and had its own stone wall wrapped protectively around it. Yet again they had to wait for Captain Glover to identify their group and give a password in the Old Tongue, a different one to the one for entering Wintercity, to get inside.

Winterfell itself spanned several acres, with several towers, all old but carefully maintained. The courtyard was laid with polished cobblestones. From the tallest tower, a banner baring the sigil of the Starks flapped proudly in the wind. Gathered in the main courtyard were the Starks, as well as several other of their bannermen. All of them looked stoic and grim, as if a wedding were the equivalent to a mass funeral for their kin.

Oberyn put on a false smile as he dismounted, lifting Loreza down while Sarella helped Dorea climb down. He passed the two girls into the care of Septa Evaine, thankful they were being polite, then stepped forward to bow politely to Magnar Stark. As he did so, he surveyed his soon-to-be goodfamily discreetly.

On Magnar Stark's right was a slim young woman, her features hidden from his view by her father's shadow. Oberyn presumed, from the stinging in his wrist and the pull in his mind, that she was his young bondmate.

On Stark's left was his wife, Lady Catelyn Stark née Tully. She was pretty enough, Oberyn supposed, but she had a disdainful look in her eyes as she surveyed his group, and he noticed her lip curl in contempt at his girls. It made fury erupt in his breast, and he spotted the girl he assumed to be Alyssa shifting uneasily and clenching tightly at her skirts.

Beside Lady Stark (or was it Magnara? Oberyn had assumed so, but all of the Northerners called her 'Lady Catelyn' with contemptuous looks and voices of dislike) was a stocky young lad with his mother's red hair and blue eyes, but the long face and pale complexion of his father. He wore a stoic expression like his father's, that couldn't quite hide the glare in his eyes directed at Oberyn. Apparently, the Young Wolf was less than pleased that his sister was marrying. Having once been in his shoes, Oberyn could sympathize with the boy, though hopefully his own marriage would not end so grimly as Elia and the thrice-damned Silver Prince's.

Beside the Heir to the Winter Lands was a young maiden of about one-and-ten, the image of her mother with a sweeter demeanour. Unlike the rest of the Starks, she was obviously delighted, a bright, genuine smile lighting her pretty face.

In contrast, her dark-haired younger sister was evidently trying not to scowl, and failing miserably. While the redheaded girl was dressed impeccably in a light blue dress with her hair pulled into a neat braid, the brunette child had a hint of mud on the bottom of her cloak hem and strands of hair escaped her own braid.

Finally, there was a young boy with, again, red hair and blue eyes. He had a dreamy expression on his face, and didn't seem to be paying any attention at all to the proceedings as he fingered the pendant hanging against his chest and stared into the distance absently. It was made from weirwood, by the looks of it, and carved with a red eye. Oberyn was fairly sure, but not positive, that it was the mark of a greenseer. He recalled meeting one, years before. He had been a strange, cryptic fellow.

"Welcome, Prince Oberyn," the Stalking Wolf greeted him gruffly. He didn't sound particularly welcoming, however, and his arm was wrapped firmly around Alyssa's slim shoulders.

"I am delighted to be here, Magnar Stark," Oberyn returned the greeting. "It is an honour to visit this fine keep and your town. It is truly a sight to see." That part wasn't even a lie.

"Indeed, it truly is," a bit of pride leaked into the sullen man's tone. Then, like a true Northerner who had no interest in smalltalk, he turned to introductions. As host, Stark introduced his family first. "This is my wife, Lady Catelyn."

"The Gods have blessed you, my lord," Oberyn drawled as he pressed a kiss to the haughty woman's hand. "Giving you such a lovely wife."

"Aye, I have been blessed in my family," Stark agreed, though a hint of pain flashed through his eyes.

Against his will, Oberyn felt a sting of sympathy for the man. He remembered Ashara's excited letters, speaking of her betrothal to the second son of Magnar Rickard and how delighted and in love with him she was. Elia too had spoken happily of the betrothal and her approval of the man. She wrote laughingly of how Ashara and Stark had already picked out names for their first two sons and daughters already. None of which, Oberyn noted, had been used for any of the children Stark had eventually had. Not even Lyarra, the name Ashara had wanted to call their eldest daughter, in honour of Stark's late mother. And from what Oberyn had heard and observed at the Tourney of Harrenhal, Eddard Stark had been as head-over-heels for Asha as she was for him. The man hadn't even been given time to end the mourning period before he'd had to wed Catelyn Tully. And she most definitely couldn't compare to vibrant, compassionate and beautiful Ashara Dayne.

Oberyn was inclined to dislike the woman on principal, for taking the place that should have been his foster-sister's, even if he hadn't seen her look at his children with contempt.

"Next to Lady Catelyn is my eldest son and heir, Magnar Robb," Stark continued, swallowing and quickly going on. "Then there are my daughters, Sansa and Arya, and my youngest, Brandon."

Oberyn greeted them each politely. The eldest girl gave him an admiring, nervous look, while the younger one looked at him like he was a demon sent from the Seven Hells specifically to torment her. Another sibling unhappy about losing her sister, apparently.

"This is my younger brother, Lord Benjen Lystark of Moat Cailin and his wife, Lady Dacey," Magnar Stark continued, evidently preferring to breach protocol over introducing his daughter to her betrothed. As a father, Oberyn sympathized and hoped that his own girls remained unwed forever. As a betrothed prince, he was mildly insulted on his bride's behalf. As a man with blood, he was eager to get everything done with so he could get near to a brazier again. The four that were settled in each of the courtyard's corners were too far to help.

"As well as their children, Rickard and Lyarra," he pointed to the two young children. Rickard seemed to be between Dorea and Loreza's ages, kept still by his father's firm grip on his shoulder, while Lyarra was a babe at her mother's breast still. After that, the Warden of the North could delay no longer.

He heaved a heavy sigh, and guided the young maiden at his right side into view. "And this is my eldest daughter, your Marked bride, Magnara Alyssa of House Stark."

Oberyn was briefly stunned speechless. At first glance, Alyssa resembled her late aunt greatly. But she was far more beautiful. Her dark hair was braided, but Oberyn could tell it was thick and curly. She was slim, with a perfectly hourglass figure and small, but full, breasts. Her eyes, as he had known from the Name on his wrist, were grey-violet. She was so pale, it seemed as if she had never seen the sun at all, and in the back of his mind he made a note to ensure she had constant access to the various potions that shielded skin from sunburn. Her lips were a deep pink, and if he was less experienced at picking up on make-up, Oberyn would've assumed it was rouge, not natural. She was petite, at most five-foot-one. She was dressed in a simple dress of dark green wool, under a plain grey cloak lined with sheepskin. But it wasn't her beauty that caught him off-guard.

When he met her eyes, the link at the back of his mind flared like a sunburst in recognition of the other half of his bond and his wrist burned, and Oberyn felt his mouth go dry.

From the widening of her eyes, Alyssa had felt the bond flaring too.

Realizing he had been staring at her in wide-eyed shock, Oberyn hastily reached out to pick up her hand and press a kiss to the back of her hand. He hoped he hadn't made a fool out of himself. Nobody had been giving him strange looks, at least.

"The gods have truly been gracious to me," he said smoothly, trying to cover up his reaction. "To gift me with such a beautiful maiden as a bride."

The bond had settled when he touched her, and he felt her emotions properly now, instead of the vague flashes of _almost_ feeling them he'd been getting since arriving in the North. She was nervous, surprised by the bond's reaction to their meeting, worried about what seemed like a dozen different things of varying degrees of importance, mildly thirsty, tired, anxious over her family's and her own impressions, and already feeling homesick for Winterfell and the North, despite not having left yet.

Alyssa curtseyed to him politely after he released her hand, inclining her head. "I am delighted to meet you, my lord," she declared in a soft, musical voice. A lie, Oberyn noted. She would have preferred never to marry at all, it seemed.

"I am delighted that you are pleased with me," she added before stepping back to her father's side, Stark quickly wrapping his arm back around her and tugging her close to his side.

That part had been less of a lie. She wasn't _delighted _per se, but she was relieved he wasn't_ dis_pleased with her.

Oberyn nodded, still feeling a bit off-kilter (as was she). He cleared his throat and began his own introductions. "This is my cousin, Lady Delonne Allyrion, and her grandson, my former squire, Ser Daemon Sand," he began. Again, he noticed Lady Catelyn sneer quickly before blanking her expression when Daemon was revealed as a bastard, and felt his temper flare. It settled quickly when he felt Alyssa's nerves increase at the flare of anger from him. He was going to need to figure out a way to deal with that, least they both go insane from it.

"Lady Delonne will be helping to teach Magnara Alyssa about Dorne's culture."

"I look forward to it," Alyssa said. From the link, he knew she was being genuine about that. Not that he needed the link, as her expression was as earnest as her tone. His party smiled at her warmly, pleased by her response. Magnar Stark and her siblings, as well as her uncle and aunt, gave her affectionate looks. Evidently learning was an activity that she enjoyed.

"Then there is Ser Perros Blackmont, grandson of Lady Larra, second-in-line to House Blackmont," Oberyn went on. "And beside him is Lord Trenton Gargalen, great-nephew and heir to Lord Tremond Gargalen. Next to him is Lady Myria Jordayne, heiress to House Jordayne. She will be my bride's other teacher. Beside her are Ladies Jeyne and Jennelyn of House Fowler, who will be acting as Magnara Alyssa's ladies after our wedding."

"I am pleased to meet you all," Alyssa murmured warmly, with a gentle smile.

"Then this is Ser Myles Manwoody, brother to Lord Dagos Manwoody," Oberyn continued. "As well as Ser Arron Qorgyle. He is cousin to the current Lord of that illustrious House. Beside Ser Arron is Ser Ulywk Uller, heir to House Uller."

Oberyn had been certain that the Ullers would be furious by the appearance of his Mark. After all, it basically declared that he would love another more than Ellaria, hard as it was to imagine someone suiting him better than she. Instead, they had been delighted. According to Ulywk, he had dreamed a dream in which Ellaria had appeared to him, claiming that she was at peace, waiting for her family to re-join her before going on to her rebirth. She had asked him to look after Oberyn and her daughters, and make sure that Oberyn didn't spend the rest of his life grieving for her and Elia, hardening his heart. In the opinions of the mad Ullers, Alyssa Stark was the solution to their problem of figuring out how to make Oberyn love again.

Alyssa curtsied again, murmuring more pleasantries, and then it was time for the final test of her character. If Alyssa was less than pleased with his daughters, Mark or no Mark, Oberyn could not care for her. His daughters came first. Always.

"And these are my daughters," he stepped to their sides. Thankfully, Dorea and Loreza had been quiet during the introductions, though they were fidgeting with excitement and eagerness. "My fourth daughter, Sarella, and my youngest two, Dorea and Loreza, with their Septa Evaine."

He was paying careful attention to Alyssa's emotions when he introduced them, and he was mostly pleased. She was eager to make a good impression, had, as stated by Private Gendry, a fierce love and protectiveness towards children. But he had also felt an instinctual stab of dislike when he introduced Septa Evaine. Evidently, his young bride shared the Northerner's typical distaste for Septas and Septons.

But he was less concerned by that then her reaction to his daughters, and he studied the link carefully as Alyssa stepped forward to greet them. "Hello," she greeted them warmly. "I am very pleased to meet you." She wasn't lying either, though she was very nervous.

Sarella opened her mouth to reply, but Loreza spoke first, her eagerness bursting out of her. "Are you our new mother?" she demanded. "Papa said that his new wife would be our stepmother, and you're her, so you are, yes?"

Lady Catelyn sniffed disdainfully, but Alyssa ignored her, smiling gently at the girls. "If you would like me to act as your mother, I would be honoured," she agreed warmly, and Oberyn was pleased to note that she was entirely sincere.

The girls' eyes lit up, and they began shooting out questions at Alyssa. To her credit, she treated each one seriously, and accepted Loreza into her arms when she asked to be carried, after gently telling her to say 'please' first.

Everyone had been watching the sweet scene was fond smiles (save for Lady Catelyn, and Oberyn sincerely disliked, nearly hated, the woman by now. How dare she look at his daughters with such disdain, for no reason other than they were bastards?), when a gust of cold wind made the Dornish party shiver.

"This place is freezing," Loreza complained. "Are those snowmen we saw people who got really, really cold and turned into snow because of it?" She was completely genuine in her question, looking up at Alyssa, who was smiling amusedly at her.

"No, don't worry," she laughed. "But I agree, it is much colder here than I am given to understand it is in Dorne. You will feel warmer inside, I promise."

"I hope so," Dorea grumbled. "I don't like the cold. Where did the sun go?"

"Perhaps we ought to continue this inside, after you have partaken of bread and salt?" Magnar Stark suggested.

"A splendid idea, my lord," Oberyn drawled in agreement. The sooner he was out of the cold, the happier he would be.


	7. Robb 1

**AN: Someone noted this in a review, so knowledge about soulbonds is very scarce and a lot of it are theories. Just because it's believed that Alys will feel Oberyn's pain and not the reverse, doesn't mean it's true. Though I'm not saying it isn't true, either. More info on the bonds will be discovered by you readers alongside Alys and Oberyn themselves. :-)**

**Chapter Six**

**Robb One**

_**Winterfell: 13**__**th**__** August, 297 After Conquest**_

The morning after the Dornish arrived, Robb woke up in a tangle of limbs in his father's bed. While in the South, as Robb understood it anyway, sharing beds with siblings and parents was considered inappropriate after leaving the nursery, in the North it was a normal fact of life. Everyone was expected to share body heat and families were encouraged to be close, emotionally and physically. Although he and Alys could probably be considered too old for it by now, the appearance of her Name had resulted in them all spending increasing amounts of time with each other, as if to savour the time they had left before Alys moved to Dorne.

That was why Robb woke up with Bran's foot pressed uncomfortably against his chin, his father's arm beneath his neck, Alys tucked between Robb and their father, with Arya lying atop Magnar Stark's chest, her arm covering Alys. Sansa was on their father's other side, her long red hair covering his face. Magnar Stark was awake as well, trying (unsuccessfully) to disentangle himself from the muddle of limbs and bedcovers without disturbing anyone so he could get ready for the day.

Robb's groan as he woke caused Alys to stir, which in turn woke up both Arya and Bran, who subsequently made Sansa jolt upright, scanning the room in bemusement.

"Good morning, my children," their father sighed fondly after everyone had managed to separate themselves and Alys had intervened to keep Arya and Sansa from getting into a fight.

"Good morning, Father," they chorused together automatically in reply, though personally Robb saw little joy in the day. Alys would be with them for such a little while longer, how would Robb ever be happy again?

Alys was as good as his twin. Technically she hadn't been with him _all_ of his life, but what did Robb know of that? He had been a mere eight moons' old when he had been brought to Winterfell and his mother had found Alys in the nursery. They had shared a cradle and nursery, Alys had sat in on Robb's lessons, both the academic ones with Maester Luwin and the physical ones with Rodrik Cassel. She had bested him more than once in the sparring yard. Robb's earliest memory was of his sister, smiling brightly at him as he gave her a winter rose he'd picked for her.

All his life, their father had drilled into them that 'the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives'. Robb was going to be head of their pack after their father, and it was his duty to care for and protect his sisters and brother, as well as their people. How would he defend Alys when she was on the other side of the continent?

He still remembered how sick she had been as a child. She had been born early, and the travel up from Dorne at such a young age had damaged her health. As a result, she had suffered frequent bouts of illness that led to her spending days in bed, during which Robb would visit as often as possible to entertain her. When she had caught the pox as a babe, he had snuck in to see her, despite attempts to keep him away from infection. The memory of how weak and sick she had been still haunted him. Ever since, he had done everything in his power to protect her from anything, whether it was nature or people.

Nobody else, save perhaps his father, could possibly be trusted to protect her the way he did. And the one time they had been separated, when he was away fostering with the Karstarks, Alys had nearly... He flinched from the horrific thought. Ramsay Snow had been sacrificed to the weirwoods for what he'd done, but Greyjoy yet lived, under the surveillance of Stannis Baratheon, Lord of Dragonstone and King Robert's Master of Ships.

Though if Robb had it his way, Alys would have her vengeance sooner rather than later. The realm couldn't afford for the ironborn to revolt over their heir's death at the moment, but Robb wouldn't wait forever. Like a true wolf, he would wait and stalk his prey, before pouncing and ripping the cad of a kraken apart.

Prince Oberyn was not worthy of Robb's little sister. Nobody was, of course. But a man older than their father who followed the Faith of the Seven_ definitely_ wasn't. If Alys ever wrote that she was being mistreated, Robb didn't even care about the consequences, he _would_ take his sister back.

After all, there were ways to work around the soulbond. Mutilating the man and keeping him in Winterfell's dungeons, for example.

"Robb," Magnar Stark's voice broke through Robb's dark thoughts, making him jolt.

"Father?" he asked, noticing that while he'd been brooding, his sisters had disappeared into the adjoining room to dress for the day, and Bran had finished pulling on his tunic and breeches. Father was already fully dressed, with only his boots missing, while Robb had on only his breeches and boots, his shirt missing. He hastily tugged the shirt over his head while Father spoke.

"I will be starting negotiations for the marriage contract between Alys and Prince Oberyn today," Father informed him. "I want you to join us and observe. It will be a good experience for you."

"Yes Father," Robb agreed, though the reminder of Alys' impending wedding made him sullen again.

Alys entered the room as their father was speaking, Arya and Sansa at her heels, and quickly turned to them, an anxious look in her eyes. "Father, you will bring up my religion, will you not?" she asked imploringly. Her eyes shone with distress as she added, "You will not let them force me to become a burner?"

"Never, Sweetling!" Father exclaimed, scooping her into a tight hug. "It will be the first thing I bring up, and I promise, I will not budge until it is written down that you be allowed to continue practicing the Old Faith, as well as teach it to your children. I promise, sweetling. I would never allow you to be forcibly converted to a faith that teaches such despicable things."

It went unsaid what those 'despicable things' were. Robb had never seen his father as furious as the day Alys had come to him in tears, asking if her being a bastard really meant she was naturally sinful, doomed to the seven hells and naturally inclined to attempt harm against her siblings. _"I don't want to hurt my siblings, Papa!" _she had wept into his surcoat. _"I love them, I promise!"_ As far as Robb knew, it was the only time his father had ever raised his voice to Lady Catelyn infront of her children, and he had sent her septa and septon away as well, replacing the septa with Lady Adile Glover, to act as their governess. Most of the time, Robb regretted that their father had elected to allow Lady Catelyn to remain due to Robb and his full-siblings, though her access to them and especially Alys had been heavily curtailed.

Of course, their younger siblings didn't know about any of that. Nor, to Robb's knowledge, were they aware of how poisonous Lady Catelyn was to their position in the North. Unlike he, as his father had been telling him since he could walk that his red hair and blue eyes meant he needed to work thrice as hard to prove himself to the Winter Lands. He liked to comfort himself with the reminder that he had sworn to send Lady Catelyn away the minute he could. Or perhaps Magnar Stark would finally decide he had enough of her and sent her back to Riverrun or to a sept. She loved her precious Seven so much, she could rot with them.

Maybe it was wrong of him to be so harsh towards her. But it had been a long time since he had thought of her as a mother. Not since he'd found the letter.

"You will likely have to respect the traditions of the Faith," Magnar Stark acknowledged, still speaking to Alys. "And it's likely that your children will have to learn that religion too. But I promise, sweetling, that I won't allow anything to go ahead until it's agreed that you can worship the Old Gods."

"What if there is no Godswood in Sunspear?" Alys worried. "How will they hear my prayers?"

"You can bring a sapling," Robb broke in to assure his sister. He felt a jab of guilt, realizing he had been so wrapped up in his own worries and anger over the Marking that he hadn't asked Alys how she was feeling about it. He resolved to ask her to come riding with him later and find out how she was coping with everything. He would also remind her that she had the North on her side, and he would always be there for her if she needed him.

"Your brother is right," Father agreed, bussing her cheek and making her smile.

"You will have great joy, Alys, I promise," Bran piped up earnestly. "I've seen you, with a bright smile, laughing in a beautiful palace."

"Well, then I know I have no reason to worry," Alys smiled, though it didn't fully reach her eyes. Everybody knew that greenseers only saw_ possible _futures, not_ the _future. Just because Bran saw her happy at one point in a possible future, didn't guarantee her a happy life. "For if the best greenseer in the Winter Lands says so, then how could I possibly doubt it?"

Bran beamed, delighted to have comforted their beloved sister, and flung his arms around her in a tight embrace. Arya was quick to join, offering to sacrifice the Prince to the weirwoods if Alys ever asked (Arya was still a bit too young to fully understand the Marks and that doing so would kill Alys as well), which made the rest of them join.

Robb's heart panged a bit, as he wondered if this had been the last time he spent the night with all of his siblings and father together. How would he ever manage without his best friend at his side?

* * *

The Dornish were evidently a lazy lot, because it was near nine in the morning by the time Prince Oberyn and Ser Myles Manwoody were escorted to Magnar Stark's solar by a servant. Evidently, Ser Myles had a significant background in law and helped the Martells with drafting many of their documents and interpretating their legislation. As such, he had been specifically chosen for Prince Oberyn's party to help work out the marriage contract.

"Good morn, Magnar Stark, Magnar Robb," Prince Oberyn drawled, nodding his head as he entered and took the seat Father gestured to. Ser Myles bowed respectfully to them both as he greeted them cheerfully.

"Good morn, Prince Oberyn, Ser Myles," Magnar Stark nodded sharply at them both. Robb echoed him, trying to hide his distaste for the man marrying his sister. He probably wasn't being too successful at it.

"Well, shall we get straight down to business, then?" Ser Myles suggested.

"Indeed," Father agreed. He launched right in without giving the Dornish a chance to begin negotiations. "The first, and most important part of the contract is, of course, my daughter's religion. I will not agree to anything else until it is written down that Alys can continue to worship the Old Gods, and teach our traditions to any children she bears."

Based on the attitudes of the few Southrons Robb had met, he had been braced for an argument on this. And he could tell that his father too had been expecting trouble. But to their mutual surprise, the Prince simply nodded in acceptance.

"That is perfectly fine," he agreed. "I confess, I have little devotion to the Seven. But she must be respectful towards the Faith, and our future daughters will receive lessons from a Septa. Though, I feel that I must warn you that there is no godswood at Sunspear."

"I have already agreed for her to take a sapling and bring it with her to Dorne," Father dismissed that concern. "Weirwoods grow and flourish in all climates, so there is no need to worry. I am grateful to you being so accommodating in this regard, Your Highness. My daughter takes great solace in the gods, especially now she has been Marked by them."

Prince Oberyn inclined his head, and Ser Myles presented a preliminary draft he'd just scribbled for their approval, granting Alys the right to worship whichever gods she wished and teach her faith to any babes she bore, so long as she respected the Faith of the Martells and their people. Magnar Stark read it first, before showing it to Robb who also looked for any hidden clauses. But it was just what it said: a statement allowing Alys to worship whichever gods she wished and teach her beliefs to any daughters she bore, so long as she respected the Faith and Rhoynar.

"I notice that you wrote daughters," Father pointed out, making Robb feel a jolt of embarrassment that he hadn't picked up on that. "Am I to take it that Alys will not be permitted to teach the faith of Old Gods to any sons she has?"

The prince blinked. "I only have daughters, Magnar Stark," he drawled. "Not sons. But is you wish, Myles can alter it to children, instead of daughters."

"I do," Father nodded sharply. "One can never predict the will of the Gods, as these events show."

"True," Prince Oberyn agreed. Ser Myles edited the document, they looked it over and then continued. This time the prince took up the reigns of the negotiations.

"Now, the second thing," Prince Oberyn leaned forward, resting his elbows on his legs. "The usual defence clause. I propose we phrase it thusly: in the event of an attack on either family or their holdings, meaning the Winter Lands or Dorne, of course, from within or without the kingdoms, the others come to their defence. Of course, we will also aid each other in defending the true and right king of the Seven Kingdoms."

"I have only one slight objection to that," Magnar Stark replied, a strange glint in his eye that Robb didn't understand. But then, there was a lot of things he didn't understand when it came to his father's actions. "And that is phrasing it '_king_ of the Seven Kingdoms'. I would prefer that it be written as _ruler_ of Westeros. After all, it may happen that the sole surviving heir is a girl, as one can never know the will of the Gods."

Robb could have been wrong, but he thought he spotted a flash of surprise in the Prince and Ser Myles' expressions. He was bemused as to why, until he understood. They had not stated the House of the ruler in question, and the Dornish were still loyal to the Targaryens. Or at least, they were against the Baratheons, who had come to the Iron Throne over the corpses of Princess Elia and her children.

The Dornish couldn't know that Eddard Stark didn't consider Robert Baratheon a brother, though Baratheon always addressed his letters to the Magnar as to his 'true brother'. Nor could they know that Ned used various incidences of the Stag King to show Robb and Bran how not to rule or treat a wife. Ned had not intended to end the Targaryen dynasty when he went to war, Robb knew. He had only wanted to avenge his family and save his sister. He had never wanted nor approved of Baratheon becoming king, or the ending of an ancient dynasty they had married into twice-over.

The Dornish had expected to find a man loyal to Robert Baratheon, and 'the most honourable man in Westeros' as Robb had heard his father be described. That was a sharp contrast to what Magnar Stark had taught him, which was that honour was all well and good, but if it came to a choice between the people the Starks had been entrusted with protecting by the Gods, or having a good reputation, you always, always did what was right for the good of the many. Always.

"Of course," Prince Oberyn said after a moment, now wearing a calculating expression. "I have no objections to that phrasing. Myles, if you would?"

The knight scribbled furiously, while Magnar Stark pulled out a document from the stack in front of him and cleared his throat.

"This is the dowry I had set aside for Alyssa, though I am willing to negotiate it."

The amount surprised even Robb. Yes, he knew that their father had set aside a larger dowry for Alys than was typical for a base born daughter, even for one born to a Lord Paramount, but this was the dowry expected for a sole daughter of a Great House!

"Alys' mother died in childbed," Magnar Stark explained after a moment, a hint of pain crossing his features. "As did her grandmother (Robb noted alarm flashing briefly across the prince's eyes at that, and wasn't sure what to make of either the emotion itself or the obviousness of it). Her father and brother died at the start of the Rebellion, so Alys inherited everything from her. I then made it all into her dowry and added some more atop it. I would insist, however, that at least a third be set aside for Alys' sole use. You have eight children, and I will not have Alys struggle financially due to their own dowries and households."

The prince grimaced, saying ruefully, "I pray that the day they need dowries never arrives, Magnar Stark. I have no desire to give away my daughters. But you need not fear for my bride's finances. She will be entitled to an annual income from the Dornish Treasury of a thousand dragons per quarter, to maintain herself and her household. In addition, I will be settling one of my personal estates, that of the Viper's Cove, on her. That will give her an extra six hundred yearly."

And so it went. Robb would grudgingly give Prince Oberyn this, he was being generous with the bride price. Though they had yet to finish the personal part of the contract and go on to the part involving the kingdoms themselves, save for the defence clause. It was still reassuring to know that, if necessary, Alys would have the funds to support herself and her future children (probably counting Dorea and Loreza Sand, given how they'd taken to her and she to them) comfortably. Especially as the Starks were raised to save their funds for Winter rather than be a spendthrift and risk starvation. But as the negotiations continued, it became clear that the man had a goal in mind, and at last he came to it.

"Of course, I would be willing to leave the dowry entirely, or rather, as it is my wife's rightful inheritance, to simply give it all to her, if you would give me a simple piece of information," he stated with a sly smile.

Robb narrowed his eyes in unison with his father, who was blatantly suspicious when he replied.

"And what information is that?"

"The names of the Lannister men who murdered my sister and her babes." The Prince's voice went hoarse with raw rage and his eyes glinted with fury as he clenched his fists.

Against his will, Robb felt a stab of sympathy for the man. As a brother, he understood the fury of knowing your sister had been brutalized in a place she should have been safe, while the brother she trusted to protect her was too far away to prevent it.

He looked at his father, who looked stunned. "You do not know who did it?" Magnar Stark confirmed in shock. "I believed it common knowledge."

"We have a dozen suspects," Prince Oberyn scowled. "But none certain. I know you know, and I must hear it!"

The Warden of the North took a deep breath and then released it, drumming his fingers on his desk. The Viper scowled and leaned closer.

"After what happened to your own sister, how can you possibly try to protect those-?"

"I do not try and protect those monsters!" Magnar Stark snarled back, rising to his feet and slamming his hands onto the desk. Everyone else hastily rose too, Robb standing beside his father and Ser Myles beside the Prince. "I try to protect my _child_!"

"What?" Prince Oberyn barked out. "What do you-?"

"Your life and my daughter's are now bound, Your Highness!" Magnar Stark snapped. "If I give you the information you are seeking, then you would go straight for the damned men, and rightfully so! But my daughter would feel any wounds you gained, she would die if you did! You are a father yourself, and clearly adore your girls! How can you possibly expect me to put my eldest daughter, the light of my life, at risk for your vengeance? I cannot! I swore to protect her, and I will do so until the day I die! No matter what, my children must come first!"

The prince was still clearly angry, but he had a hint of understanding in his eyes. He clenched his jaw, curling his hands. "What if I swear not to confront them alone?" he offered after a minute of tension-filled silence. "And to take extreme care."

Magnar Stark stared at him, then exhaled and closed his eyes. "Swear on the Old Gods and the New, on your daughters' lives and your ancestors' spirits, that you will not confront them in a hot-headed rage, that you will have as many men as possible to assist you. That, if it is a choice between avenging your sister and assuring the safety of my daughter, you will choose Alyssa. Then, I will tell you."

"I, Prince Oberyn Nymeros Martell of Dorne, swear on the Old Gods and the New, on the lives of my children, born and unborn, on my ancestors' spirits, as well as on the spirits of my sister and her babes, that I will take every possible precaution to ensure my bride's health and safety when I take vengeance for Elia and her babes."

"So mote it be," the rest of them echoed.

The prince and Ser Myles looked expectantly and eagerly towards Magnar Stark. Caught up in the atmosphere of the room, Robb too looked eagerly at his father.

"A knight by the name of Amory Lorch killed Princess Rhaenys," the Magnar revealed quietly. "While Ser Gregor Clegane killed Prince Aegon and Princess Elia."

"Ser Amory Lorch and the Mountain That Rides?" the Viper confirmed breathlessly. "You are certain?"

"Aye," Father replied, looking tired and grieved, as he always did when the topic of the Rebellion came up. "I was there in the throne room when the bodies were presented. Lorch was not yet landed at the time, it was his reward for the Sack from Lannister. Clegane received a keep and a wife for his own actions."

All things considered, Robb couldn't blame Prince Oberyn from storming out of the room after that revelation.


	8. Alyssa 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF or GoT. **

**AN: For those reading this on the GoT fandom of , I changed the title to the same one I have it under for the ASoIaF/Ao3, as I think A Clash of Crowns will better suit the second part, which will cover this universe's War of the Five Kings. **

**Second point, because the North is more prosperous here, Jorah was able to provide for Lynesse's tastes, and they rule Bear Island, with three children.**

**Thirdly, I couldn't find any record of House Blackmont's words, so I made them up. I hope I haven't stolen anyone's idea for their words, if I did it was a complete accident.**

**Finally, this chapter has mentions of attempted rape (non-graphic). I will have a warning for anybody who is triggered by this topic when it comes up, so as to skip it.**

**Now, as usual, thanks to everyone who reviewed and complimented this story. I'm always willing to answer any questions sent in about the story. Keep reading, enjoying and reviewing!**

**Chapter Seven**

**Alyssa Three**

_**Winterfell: 13**__**th**__** August, 297 After Conquest**_

Her bondmate's anger throbbed in the back of Alys' mind, giving her a headache. It put her off-balance, making it twice as difficult to keep her façade of calmness up in the hall where she was stitching her trousseau with the help of the various ladies of her family's bannermen who'd come to Winterfell for the Stark-Martell union and the Dornish women. They had joined that morning, after Alys had admitted at breakfast that they were still working on her trousseau and she could not yet spare the time for lessons with Ladies Delonne and Myria. The ladies had decided to join the group and begin teaching Alys whilst they sewed. And by the Old Gods, Alys had wanted to melt into the floor from humiliation when the Dornish ladies had seen her trousseau.

Despite their best efforts, Alys still only had seven dresses done, her wedding dress one of them, with four others in various stages of completeness. And anybody with a day's experience with sewing had to realize that they were all brand new and hastily made. The trousseau certainly did not reach the standard expected for a Magnara who was marrying a Prince.

At least no one had mentioned it, beyond the expressions of disbelief and disapproval that had briefly crossed the Fowler twins' faces before they'd regained their smiles. Lady Delonne had commented airily that it was sensible of Alys to have decided to have so much cloth put aside, as the Northern dresses wouldn't work well in Dorne's heat. Alys had been more than grateful for the excuse, even if her upbringing trilled its disapproval at the lie.

They'd gotten down to business then. All of the Dornish ladies, including Sarella Sand but not Dorea and Loreza and their septa were there. From the North, there was Alys and Sansa (nobody was about to let Arya's stitches near such an important project, much as Alys loved her youngest sister.), Rosael, her Aunt Dacey, Lady Dustin, Ladies Maege and Lynesse Mormont with Maege's other daughters and the ladies who would be coming South with Alys' retinue: Wynafryd Manderly, Serena Whitewolf, Gella Borrell of Sweetsister to represent the Three Sisters part of the Winter Lands, Lyra Mormont and Maege Seastark. Of course, Rosael and Ygritte would be coming too. It was a very large retinue in Alys' own opinion, especially as she'd be getting Dornish ladies too, but she knew and was friendly with all of them to varying degrees.

Despite how big it seemed to Alys, however, Lady Delonne had noted that it was a smaller entourage than they'd expected. Alys had been dismayed at that, worried that her House would be shamed, but Serena had informed the Dornish woman that, by Northern standards, it was overly-large. All of her new ladies were extremely proud of their appointment, as it was considered very prestigious to serve their liege's lord's Marked daughter, though there were concerns about how everyone would fair in Dorne's foreign culture and weather.

While they each worked on different parts of the dress, Alys found herself being subtly bombarded with questions by the Dornish. She had no doubt, despite her lack of ability to actually figure out what they were, that each question was a cover for another, more important one. The Dornish ladies were trying to figure out her character.

Alys, however, was a very introverted young lady. She had great difficulty chatting with people other than her family. The people of the North all knew this, and they indulged her by not forcing her into long speeches whilst still keeping her a part of the conversation. The Dornish, however, clearly wanted to know what type of person their newest Princess was, and Alys felt nearly dizzy from trying to answer everything and (failing to) understand the subtext.

Lady Delonne and Lady Myria had also decided to begin her lessons on Dorne straight away. They had also mentioned lessons on politics, which Alys wasn't looking forward to at all. Politics gave her a headache, even if she had a small grasp on it due to sitting in on Robb's lessons.

Despite the opinions of the South, the North_ did _have its own version of politics. But unlike the Southrons, the goal wasn't power or influence in King's Landing. Instead, it, like most things in the North, revolved around Winter preparations. The goal was to gain priority for food and other supply deliveries. And, of course, dragonglass, the only weapon that worked against wights and was thus considered more valuable than Valyrian Steel in the North. Seeing as the Starks controlled who got what supplies in what order, and kept a careful record of all pieces of dragonglass found, currying favour with the Magnars of Winterfell was top priority for the North. Not to mention gaining one of the young Starks' hands for betrothals would be the equivalent to a Southron marrying the Crown Prince in the eyes of the Northerners.

Currently, everyone was in different groups. Sansa and Rosael were with the Fowler girls, Sansa obliviously telling the twins stories of Alys' youth, unaware of Alys' desperate wish for her to stop. She was wary of what the Dornish would think if they learned about some of her more foolish escapades with Robb. Granted, Alys had usually been trying to stop Robb from doing something stupid, but always ended up helping him instead. Lady Myria and Lady Delonne were beside Alys, working on separate dresses, and the others were scattered around the room in different groups.

"If you would, Magnara," Lady Delonne smiled pleasantly at Alys. "You said that you had been reading up on our kingdom since being Marked. Would you be so good as to list all of the Houses you know in Dorne? If possible, their sigils and words too. I will tell you the Heads and Heirs of the House after you name them."

Alys cleared her throat, embroidering a snowflake pattern in white onto what would be a royal blue skirt as she did so. "Of course, my lady," she agreed, trying to keep the strain she was feeling from her bondmate's anger from showing. It was hard not to worry about what had angered him so much, and harder still not to let it influence her own temper. "In order of rank as I understand it, or simply reciting them?"

"If you know the ranks, that would be excellent," Lady Delonne replied. She herself was sewing a golden leaf pattern onto a green bodice on a mannequin. Alys was slightly alarmed to note that the neckline looked to be lower than it had been originally. It her father or brother saw in her something as low as that, they would have fits.

"The Great House is, of course, Martell," Alys began, imagining the book of Dornish Houses she had read. She had read as much as she could about her future kingdom and its history and culture, but books could only do so much in this case. "Their sigil is a gold spear piercing a red sun on a field of orange, and their words are 'Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken'."

"Correct," Lady Delonne agreed. "Obviously, Prince Doran is Head of that House, with Prince Quentyn as his heir."

"I thought that Princess Arianne was his heir," Alys frowned in confusion at that.

The two ladies exchanged quick looks, before Lady Myria sighed and explained. "She was. However, she proved herself incapable of being the ruler Dorne needs by putting her own desires ahead of the kingdom. She attempted to elope with Willas Tyrell, Heir to Highgarden, thinking to subvert her father's power through using the power of the Reach. She was unaware, however, that she was not exchanging letters with Lord Tyrell, but Ser Gerold Dayne, known as the Darkstar, of High Hermitage.

Prince Oberyn found and retrieved her, but by then Dayne had already forced Princess Arianne into marriage. It quickly became obvious that Dayne had done all of it to try and gain control of Dorne, and it was too late by then to annul the marriage. As such, Prince Doran disowned his daughter and banished her and the Darkstar from court to protect Dorne from the thrice-cursed man, as well as having Dayne stripped of his knightly title. He is a gambler and a rake of the worst kind, and I shudder to think of what would become of Dorne if he and his wife gained control of the kingdom."

"I see," Alys said faintly. She mentally vowed to avoid the topic of the formerly-Princess Arianne and the Darkstar like the plague. That road clearly only held trouble.

"At any rate, Prince Quentyn is a good lad," Lady Delonne went on. "Very sensible. He will make a good Prince for Dorne. Now, what is the next House?"

"I believe the next highest House is your own, my lady," Alys stated carefully, earning a pleased nod from her new teacher. "House Allyrion, and your words are No Foe May Pass. Your blazon is a yellow hand on gyronny red and black."

"Almost, Magnara," Lady Delonne informed her. "It's a gold hand, not a yellow one. But other than that, correct. I am the Lady of the House, and my son Ryon is my Heir. My consort is Ser Edrian, formerly of House Toland. Ryon is married to Lady Ynys Yronwood with two sons, Edric and Anders. Daemon is his son."

Alys nodded, carefully storing that information away before going on. "The next House is, I believe, House Blackmont. Their sigil is a black vulture with a pink infant in its claws on yellow. I'm afraid that I cannot think of their words."

Lady Myria spoke this time. "Well done, Magnara. Their words are 'We Stand Like Mountains' and the Lady Larra Blackmont is their Head, with her daughter Lady Jynessa as Heir, and Lady Jynessa's son Ser Perros after her. Next?"

* * *

Later that afternoon, Alys was finally able to escape the bustling sewing room and began making her way to the kennels with Ygritte to check on her young direwolf. Ghost and her siblings were now nearly seven moons' old, and the size of a large hunting dog. Alys, Robb and Bran had all managed to warg into their familiars already, but Arya and Sansa were still struggling to do so. They could manage brief bursts, but could not yet sustain the connection. Alys was guiltily proud that she had been the first of her siblings to hold her warg successfully.

As she headed for the kennels, Alys stumbled across her two youngest stepdaughters-to-be. They were giggling madly, and Alys noted that their septa was nowhere to be seen. A small smile quirked up her lips in amusement, even as she mentally disapproved of the septa letting the children escape her watch. Lady Adil had never been so negligent with any of her charges.

"Well, what do we have here, Ygritte?" Alys asked her friend and guard in a teasing tone, crouching down to smile at the two young girls.

"It looks like a pair of tiny wildings," Ygritte replied cheerfully, smirking. "I suppose we ought to take them back to their clans, hm?"

"We're exploring!" Dorea announced. Her brown eyes, inherited from her father, sparkled with the innocent delight that only a young child could express.

"We're supposed to be with Septa Evaine," Loreza added happily. "But sewing was boring so we decided to look for unicorns instead. Sarella read us a book about the North, and it said you have unicorns here."

"Oh, sweetling, I'm sorry," Alys apologized for the disappointment she was about to give them. "But you probably won't find any of them. They only come around every so often, and only for short visits. They are free creatures, and it breaks the laws of the North to try and capture or harm one. But, if you like I can show you my direwolf."

"What's a direwolf?" Dorea asked, screwing up her face. They had briefly looked upset when Alys informed them that they wouldn't find any unicorns, but now they looked curious.

"Her name is Ghost and she is type of very big puppy," Alys grinned at them, they beamed back.

"What does she look like?" Loreza asked eagerly. She pouted as she added, "Papa will not let us have a puppy or a kitten. He said that maybe when we are older, but not yet."

"Well, Ghost will be coming with me to Dorne, and I am sure she will revel in your presence," Alys smiled, before going on to offer, "Why don't we show her to you?" she offered. The two girls accepted eagerly, Alys lifting Loreza into her arms while Ygritte settled Dorea on her left hip, leaving her right hand open to grab a knife if necessary.

As they made their way towards the kennels, Ygritte told the two riveted girls the story of the Pact between the First Men and the Children, and how the union of Brandon the Builder and his Child wife, Oak, had given the Stark family their magic.

"What magic can you do, Mother?" Dorea asked Alys curiously. They had been addressing her as 'Mother' since she'd confirmed that she would act as their mother if they looked. It would take some getting used to, but not in a bad way. Her betrothed seemed to feel a mixture of emotions about it during the feast. Alys thought from the feelings that he regretted the loss of their mother, but was pleased they now had a maternal influence.

Alys gave another smile, hiding the irritated look she shot at Ygritte, who smirked and shrugged her free shoulder. "I am a warg, which means that I can see through the eyes of my familiar," Alys informed Dorea. She saw no harm in admitting it, when it was well-known that the Starks could blend their minds with their familiars.

"And control her actions as well, in a way. My younger brother, Bran, is a greenseer. That means that he can see the past and the present, and the future as well. All of my siblings can also warg into their own direwolves. They mimic our feelings, and will live as long as we do, without outside interference. If the bond is broken by a sudden death, the other's mind would shatter."

It didn't occur to her that saying such things to a child might not be very appropriate, as such things were known to all of the First Men.

They were crossing near to the sparring yard as she explained, and she heard the sound of swords clashing furiously just as her wrist burned briefly, alerting her to the presence of her soulmate nearby.

"Papa!" Loreza cried, her attention now on the scene in the yard.

Prince Oberyn was attacking three of the guards he'd brought with him, a fierce scowl on his face. From the layer of sweat that coated his body despite the cold weather, he had been at it for a long time. Alys could still feel his anger. It was no longer as bad as it had been earlier, when she had accidentally jabbed herself in the finger with her needle from surprise and alarm at the sudden flare of raw rage and agonizing grief she had felt from him. Instead, it had settled down into a simmering anger and grief that made both Alys nervous to approach him and pained in sympathy.

But Loreza's call had grabbed his attention before Alys could escape undetected, and she was forced to put on a fake smile that he could probably see through as easily as glass due to their link.

"And what are my two littlest Snakes doing out here instead of having lessons with Septa Evaine, hmm?" Prince Oberyn asked as he came up to their sides. He reached out to take Loreza into his arms, ignoring the coldly assessing look Ygritte was giving him. The Free Folk woman did not yet trust the Prince her charge was marrying, and he would need to prove his strength and character before she would consider him an acceptable husband for Alys.

"Mother is taking us to see her wolf puppy, Papa," Loreza informed him earnestly. "She's bringing Ghost, that's her puppy's name, Papa, to Dorne. And Ygritte, that's Ygritte there, she's Mother's warg guard and she has an eagle named Arrow that's she's bringing too."

"Come with us, Papa," Dorea suggested eagerly.

"If my bride is not opposed to my presence, then I would be delighted to meet Ghost," the prince drawled, smiling lovingly at his daughters. That was one point in the man's favour, at least, Alys mused silently to herself. He clearly adored all of his children. She wouldn't need to fear any harm coming to any child she bore from their father. And if he loved the babes she birthed half-as-much as his other children, she needn't fear them being used against the North after all. She was unconcerned for her own safety, but her future children were an entirely different manner.

"That would be an honour, Your Highness," Alys replied primly, curtseying to him. The wry look in his eyes said that he knew she would much rather be on the other side of the continent than within arms' reach of him, but he inclined his head.

"Ghost will not harm them, I hope?" he said to her in a soft time as they made their way to the kennels. The children were distracted by another of Ygritte's tales. Alys couldn't keep herself from stiffening when she felt his arm brush her own, her breath catching in instinctual fear. She hid a wince when she felt a stab of bemused suspicion from his side of the link, and she exhaled in a burst of white breath that curled in the air when he stepped slightly away from her.

"Ghost will not harm any children," Alys assured him softly. "The first thing we do is train them not to attack without command. Anyway, they have milk teeth still."

What she didn't mention was that, according to the beliefs of the First Men, a direwolf could sense a person's soul, and to kill one was a crime against the Gods themselves. If a direwolf disliked you, the direwolf would, at least, shun and growl at them, as they did to Lady Catelyn. This was seen as proof that the person was untrustworthy. Yet another reason for the Winter Lands to dislike Lady Catelyn.

If one was an evil, corrupt person they attacked, as Twilight had attacked Ramsay Snow and Theon Greyjoy during the Incident, though her father's intervention meant that their wounds had not been fatal.

But the direwolves _never _assaulted children. This, therefore, was a secret test of her betrothed's character. Alys would know, when the wolves met her betrothed, if Prince Oberyn was a man for her to fear or not.

"Wonderful," the prince muttered. He studied her intently, and she shifted uncomfortably, adjusting her cloak to hide the trembling in her arms.

She would have to tell him, she realized reluctantly. Regardless of her desire to forget the whole thing, it still haunted her dreams. Still, she struggled to remain calm in the presence of any man she was unrelated or unfamiliar with. As he was to be her husband (in the eyes of the Gods, they were married already), she had to explain to the prince why she couldn't enter a stable without panicking and struggling to breathe. Why she stiffened when he was too close to her. She could ask her father to explain on her behalf, but that was a cravenly action. Alys was a Stark, and Starks were not cowards. She would tell him herself.

They arrived at the kennels then, and the girls were placed down on the ground, to allow them to go inside.

In the far corner, curled up on a heap of furs, was the unnamed female direwolf whom Twilight had impregnated. She was a wild direwolf, and once the pups had finished weaning (which would be within the next few days or weeks at most), she would be released back into the wild. That was how the Starks bred their purebred direwolves, in order to avoid inbreeding. Alys herself would one day breed Ghost with some other species of canine, creating hybrid pups to give to her own children, as all Stark daughters did.

Ghost stuck her white head up out of the furs, sensing Alys' arrival, then climbed out and over. The girls let out gasps of delight, reaching out to pet the animal. Their father hovered over the two girls protectively, eyeing the wolves with a wary awe. There was no need for him to worry, however, as Alys had full control over the pup.

"She's so pretty," Dorea cooed, patting Ghost's snout gently.

"You should have called her Snow, because of her fur," Loreza added. Alys felt her smile grow strained. Much as she loved her family, she had only become a Stark in the past few moons. And even then, it was solely to give up the name she had longed her whole life for and become a wife. No, naming her familiar 'Snow' had never been an option for Alys. Not that she would say that to the child.

"You're quite right, sweetling," Alys answered as lightly as she could, keenly aware of her betrothed's thoughtful gaze on her. "How silly of me! Unfortunately, it's too late to change it now. Shall we let your father pet her now?"

Prince Oberyn gave her a thoughtful look as his daughters nodded excitedly and instructed him to do so. He squatted down, and Alys stepped forward to intervene if necessary.

"Hold out your hand, and let her come to you," she told him. "Else, she may perceive you as a threat. If she refuses to come, don't try and force her."

"Aye," he nodded, following her instructions. To Alys' relieved surprise, Ghost didn't even hesitate before loping over and rubbing her head against his hand. He smiled, scratching the direwolf's ears, whilst both Northern girls lost a great deal of tension.

Watching the way her companion had taken to the prince, Alys decided to get it over with while she had the courage. "Ygritte," she called to her friend.

"Yes, Alys?"

"Watch the girls for a bit, please?" Alys requested. "I must inform my lord of something."

Ygritte's eyes lit up in comprehension, and concern flashed over her features. "Are you sure?" she asked seriously.

Alys gave a tight smile. "Aye, it must be done," she replied. Through the link, she felt the prince's bemused suspicion growing. Thankfully, the girls were too busy doting on Ghost to notice or pay attention to the discussion.

Ygritte still looked reluctant, but she nodded unhappily. "Call if you need me," she ordered Alys sternly, thumbing the obsidian dagger dangling from her belt and shooting Prince Oberyn an icy glare of warning.

"Aye," Alys agreed softly, before turning to the prince and curtseying, gesturing outside the kennels with her head. "If Your Highness would be so good?" she requested softly.

"Of course," he drawled. "I do so enjoy being outside in this Northern weather. You would never guess that it is summer."

"Tis autumn, milord," Alys corrected him absently, leading him outside. In deference to his coldness, she led him to stand beside a nearby brazier.

He raised an eyebrow at her claim. "No white ravens have been sent out by the Citadel yet," he pointed out.

Alys gave a weak attempt at a smile. "I am of the North, my lord," she responded. "I know the feel of the season changing. The signs are seen here first. The white ravens will be sent out soon, I assure you."

He shrugged, stepping closer to the brazier and giving her an expectant look. "You wished to inform me of something?" he prompted her.

Alys nodded, swallowing and looking down at the ground to avoid having to meet his eyes. "We are to wed, so you must know, though I beg you not to interrupt, as it is a difficult tale for me to speak of."

"I will not," he promised. She didn't look up, keeping her gaze fixed on her boots instead.

***WARNING FOR ATTEMPTED RAPE MENTION***

"I am sure, milord, that you are aware that, from the Greyjoy Rebellion up until two years' ago, Theon Greyjoy, the Heir to the Iron Islands was being kept here as a hostage, in order to ensure Lord Balon's compliance with the Crown."

She fell silent, risking a look at him. There was a hint of dawning understanding in his eyes. She could feel a mix of emotions through their link, but didn't let herself focus on it. She could do nothing more than push through until the end of the story, otherwise she wouldn't be able to tell it at all.

"Aye, but he was transferred to the care of Lord Stannis Baratheon, the Master of Ships," the prince answered. "Officially in order to learn the ways of the seas. But I take it that is false?"

"Aye," Alys' voice could barely be called a whisper. "At the time, I was two-and-ten. Lord Bolton is one of our most loyal and our _most_ powerful bannerman. He has, or had rather, a bastard son near my age. He brought him to Winterfell in the hopes of negotiating a betrothal between us. However, they...when my father refused...I-"

Alys couldn't finish. Her breath was struggling to come, and she was leaning against the wall to keep from swooning. She found herself enveloped delicately in Prince Oberyn's arms as he guided her to sit on a nearby boulder.

"They raped you?" he confirmed gently, though she heard and felt a thread of protective fury coming from him.

"I am still a maiden," she croaked in reply. "But if Father had been moments later..." she trailed off. "Ramsay Snow was executed for his actions, but of course, we could not execute Lord Greyjoy's heir," she explained blankly. "He was sent away instead. I had to inform you because sometimes- I cannot enter the stables without becoming distressed. Or a man will touch me unexpectedly and-"

***END WARNING***

"It's alright, Alyssa," he murmured soothingly, cutting off her half-hysterical babbling. "It's alright. I understand. Alyssa, I need you to look at me please."

She forced herself to meet his eyes, relieved that, while he was angry, none of it was aimed at her.

"I swear, by the Old Gods and the New, that you are safe with me, Alyssa," he vowed, his gaze steady. "And I will never force you into doing something you do not want. Ever."

She could feel his sincerity through their link, as well as the protective fury that he now had for her. Most relieving of all, he didn't blame her, nor was he disgusted by her.

A sigh of relief escaped her lips and she inclined her head to him gratefully. She decided then and there, that she was pleased with her husband. Despite his reputation, the direwolves believed he was a good man. And from the link, she believed him when he said he wouldn't hurt her. And wasn't that all she'd wanted from the man she would wed?

"Thank you," she managed to reply. Just then, Ghost came running out, heading for Alys and the girls came out chasing her. Alys quickly hid any traces of distress in her expression and smiled at her stepchildren.

Ygritte followed them, looking at Alys with concern. Alys smiled tiredly at her guard, signing subtly to her in the hand signals used by the Free Folk and taught to the Starks by those vassals.

'_Safe'_ she told her friend. Ygritte relaxed, nodding.


	9. Arianne 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT. Time to introduce another player of the Game who is most likely destined to cause trouble for our protagonists. Read, enjoy and review!**

**Chapter Eight**

**Arianne One**

_**High Hermitage: 13**__**th**__** August, 297 After Conquest**_

Compared to the beauty and spaciousness of Sunspear or even the Water Gardens, High Hermitage was barely better than a hovel in the opinion of Princess Arianne. Technically, she was no longer entitled to claim the title of 'Princess', but she stubbornly continued to do so anyway. She punished any servant who disrespected her by using the title 'Lady Dayne' by sacking them. Had a noble dared to call her such, she would have made them regret it. But she and her husband were both personae non gratae at court, so nobody visited.

Not even her closest friends visited, which hurt more than Arianne was willing to admit. Her cousins were a different matter.

Tyene was confined along with Obara and Nymeria at Sunspear, so they couldn't come to see her anyway. And the 'companions' hired by Uncle Oberyn kept a strict eye on their correspondence from what Arianne had heard, so she couldn't get any letters to them either, as they had been forbidden to write to each other too.

It hurt to know that her beloved nuncle had sided against her. She had only been trying to get what was hers by right! She was the eldest of Doran's children, according to the Sunchair was her birthright! How could Oberyn not have been on her side, when he had always doted on her as much as his own daughters?

But while her cousins had a legitimate reason to be neglecting to attend her, Drey, Garin and Sylva did not! They had also been banished from court in disgrace for helping her with her plan, but that didn't stop them from coming to see her. Of course, Arianne could have reached out to them if she wanted to, but that was not something she was willing to do. She was the rightful heiress of Dorne, she would not lower herself to coaxing her social inferiors into providing her with companionship.

Instead, Arianne concentrated on her goal: ascending to her rightful place as the Ruling Princess. When she had run away to elope, she had merely wanted the Reach's aid in securing her place in Dorne's succession. She intended to lock her father and younger brothers away in the Water Gardens where they would be comfortable but out of her way. She had only wanted what was hers, not to make them suffer.

Now, though, she was bitter and eager for revenge against her father for humiliating her and sending her away. She would overthrow him and ascend to the Sunchair. Then she would send him and his precious Quentyn to a sept, and leave them both there to rot. That would be a fitting punishment for her embarrassment.

Once, Arianne had thought her uncle would support her as heiress, but it was obvious to her now that Oberyn was not to be trusted. He had chosen Doran over her and she would not forgive him for it. Even as a child she had realized that he would fight to the death in her father's defence, which meant that he would never stand down and allow her to usurp her father's position. That meant she would have to deal with him too.

The question was, how to use his new soulmate against him?

"You were two-and-ten when Ashara Dayne died, were you not?" she questioned her husband. "What do you recall of her and Magnar Stark? It may aid us in learning about my new aunt's disposition, if we know more of her father's personality."

While she knew that the Darkstar was not a remotely suitable consort for her, they shared the same goal: rule over Dorne. Power. Arianne would not allow him to dominate her, but she was willing to grant him some of the power he desired, so long as he remained loyal to her.

He had given her one advantage in the Game, she acknowledged as a foot dug painfully into her stomach, making her suppress a wince. She would be glad for her pregnancy to be over and done with, and not just because having an heir would strength her cause. Being with child was miserable, and she fully intended to go on moon tea again after her delivery.

But before she could do that, she needed to have a strong child, and soon. According to rumour, her father was in talks to betroth Quentyn (and these would no doubt be with suitable ladies, not the old men he'd tried to foist her off onto, she thought bitterly.) and he would make an announcement soon. Arianne needed her own heir, to help prove that she would be a better ruler than her younger brother.

"I was, yes," Gerold nodded. "Asha, as we called her, was born in 265. When she was fourteen, she was betrothed to Magnar Eddard Stark, who at the time was the second of Magnar Rickard's sons, and due to inherit Moat Cailin when its' previous Lord, Rickon Whitestark, died, as the man had no children, trueborn or otherwise. They met two years before the tourney at Harrenhal, and Asha seemed to love him deeply and truly. Of course, we all know how that turned out."

By that he meant that Ashara Dayne had been sentenced to death for her connection to the Starks, a mere moon prior to leaving for her would-have-been wedding day. Rumours said that she had been with child when she was burned, and tales were whispered in King's Landing that you could hear her screams could be heard when there was a draft in the throne room. According to witnesses, she had died bravely, but had cried out once while she burned to death. A single word: Ned! It was a tragically romantic story.

"That does not tell me anything about Stark himself," Arianne snapped. Gerold shrugged, sneering at her.

"What do you expect, Wife? I was over a decade Ashara's junior, we did not interact much. I met the Stalking Wolf only once, two moons' before Harrenhal. He was a quiet fellow, and he obviously wasn't fond of warfare, though he was skilled enough to duel Arthur (he sneered resentfully when he spoke of the most recent Sword of Morning) and hold out against him for nigh on ten minutes. I certainly wouldn't have guessed that a man as introverted as he would be capable of leading his army so successfully, but again, _I did not know him_!"

Arianne glared resentfully at her husband, then looked down at the desk. Or more specifically, at the letters on her desk. Any of her favourites who had been involved in her elopement had been sent from court at Sunspear in disgrace, but she still had some spies loyal to her left in the Water Gardens. They sent her copies of any correspondence they could get their hands on. Perhaps she would find something helpful in them.

"Leave me," she ordered her husband imperiously, waving her hand in dismissal. "I must work."

Gerold sneered at her as he rose, his eyes flashing darkly. "Watch yourself, Wife," he growled at her. "One day, I may lose my patience with you. Then you will regret disobeying me. Or have you forgotten that Seven Kingdoms' law makes you my property?"

Arianne glared right back at him, touching the knife left on the table. She had never spent much time learning to fight, just as she had ignored her septa and maesters. She had guards to protect her, after all, and learning about the gods and how to do her sums were boring. Daydreaming about Ser Daemon had been far more enjoyable as a past time. But she had some skill with a knife, and the Darkstar was unarmed.

"Watch yourself, Gerold," she growled. "I am Dorne's rightful ruler, and now that I am with child, I have no further need of you! Watch what you say to me, least I lose my patience with you."

He had the audacity to laugh at her. "You are an arrogant fool, Arianne," he scoffed. "You have too high an opinion of your own skills." He paused to smirk cruelly at her. "Rather like Cersei Lannister, do you not think?"

She lunged at him in outrage at the comparison, so infuriated that she didn't even raise the knife, trying to beat him with her fists and nails. "How dare you?" she spat in a fit of raw rage. "You-"

He grabbed and subdued her with ease, an almost bored look on his face. "You say you have no further need of me?" he drawled. "I disagree. For one thing, there is no guarantee this child will not be a stillborn, nor that they will not die in infancy. Should either scenario occur, you will need a new babe to present as an heir for the Sunchair. And, despite your belief, Your Highness," his tone dripped with mockery as he said the title, making Arianne's teeth grind together painfully in anger. "You are _not_ an attractive prospect as a wife. Not now you've been disowned at least. So yes, Wife, you_ do _need me, whether you like it or not. Now, I bid you good day."

With that, he strolled casually out of the solar, leaving Arianne flushed and humiliated behind him. She straightened, glowering at the door. Perhaps she had made a mistake, deciding to try and work with him. Mayhaps it would be better for herself if her husband were to suffer an accident, whilst sparring or riding. Or, if she could manage a letter to Tyene, perhaps she could figure out a poison that would rid her of the man while appearing to be some sort of illness. She couldn't afford to be connected to the murder, however. Not when she needed to convince her bannermen to support her over Quentyn.

Pushing thoughts of how to become a widow aside, Arianne sat down behind the desk again, and started to shuffle through the letters on her desk until she came to a few related to the Starks that seemed useful. She began with the two-year-old letter from Catelyn Stark to her sister first. Like most of the letters Lady Stark sent to Lady Arryn, it had not been read by its recipient, and one of Doran's spies in the Arryn household had sent a copy to the Prince. One of Arianne's own spies had then gotten their hands on it and sent it to her.

Most of it was drivel and nonsense, filled with whining over how miserable it was in the North, as well relating Catelyn's plea to her father to take her younger son in as his fosterling to prevent him becoming too Northern, expressing worry for her other children who acted so like the rest of the North's people. Arianne snorted in contempt at the woman's idiocy. How did she expect her sons to keep their positions as Wardens of the North if they acted and looked like Riverlanders? But that was when Arianne came across an interesting tidbit.

_I suppose that The Bastard is good for something, after all. She has proven me, and our gods' words, right, and her actions have resulted in Robb's return home. As I warned my lord husband multiple times she would, she has proven herself to be as much of a whore as her thrice-cursed mother, whomever the slut was. I will tell you the story now, but I request you do not spread the tale, so that I might prevent my children being smeared by association with the girl._

_As you know, the Greyjoy boy was fostering here. The Boltons (truly, they are a disturbing lot, Sister. But they are loyal enough, I suppose.) were visiting recently. Lord Bolton wished to betroth his own bastard to my husband's one. I was fearful that he would accept, as The Bastard's inborn greed would undoubtedly lead her to try and usurp Robb's position as heir in favour of any sons she bears. Not that I can truly bring myself to believe that the Mother would ever grant living children to a bastard, but you know how the base born are. Naturally greedy and envious of the rights and privileges of the trueborn that they cannot share. At any rate, Magnar Eddard refused. But later that very day, he found the girl coupling with both the Bolton bastard and Greyjoy! Of course, when he and Jory came in, she started crying and claiming they were trying to force her. My husband foolishly believes her story, but I know the truth. The Bastard seduced them. Perhaps she thought to force Greyjoy into making her his wife, so that she could rule over the Iron Islands as its Lady. _

_At any rate, the girl is confined to her rooms, supposedly injured when her head banged against the ground. Ramsay Snow is being held in the dungeons for trial in front of those awful weirwoods (all Northern trials are held before weirwood trees, as supposedly a lie cannot be told before one. Truly, Sister, I loathe this heretical place and all of its customs. What I would not give for the days of our childhood at Riverrun with its beautiful sept again.). Lord Bolton is claiming to be appalled by the whole affair and insisting that he will swing the sword himself if needs be. Greyjoy is also being held in the dungeons, but his case is more complicated, given he is the Crown's hostage against Balon Greyjoy._

_But the good news, dearest Sister, is that, as I said earlier, my son will be returning to Winterfell! How I have missed him, these past two years. My lord husband decided that The Bastard would 'recover' quicker with her brother's presence, so she has some uses, after all. The fosterage is over at last. Robb has been distant these past few years since he went to be fostered, but that is only the distance, I am sure. My son is young yet, and requires his mother's guiding hand if he is to be a good Lord Paramount. I intend to request that Father begin a correspondence with him, hopefully countering the things the Northerners have taught him. _

_My hope is that I can finally convince Magnar Stark to send The Bastard away. Then, without her features reminding my husband of his dead whore, I can at last work on improving our marriage. Once I have done so, I can influence him into being closer to our family, and betrothing our children to good, pious lords and ladies from the South. The Reach has a girl the right age for Robb, and of course she will be most devoted to the Seven, coming from that kingdom. And I have high hopes for Sansa, given my lord husband fostered with His Grace and they regard each other with fondness. Your own husband has the King's ear, perhaps you could hint at Sansa's beauty and skills in the womanly arts? She will make a fine wife for Crown Prince Joffrey, who is her age. My sole worry is that she prays to the Old Gods, not the true ones. But I have faith that I can fix that with time._

_Robb is likely too old to be fostered again now, so I doubt that Magnar Stark will agree to send him to Riverrun as I desired, but Bran will soon be old enough for fostering. I worry over his devotion to the tree gods. Of all my children, he spends the most time praying to him. And he is to become an apprentice greenseer of all things! _

_Hopefully, I can convince Magnar Stark to send him to stay at Riverrun with Father. There, with proper guidance, he will learn the true faith and..._

Arianne stopped reading, having found the information she needed. So, her nuncle's new bride had once been raped. Arianne had no doubt that the girl had not been lying about that. It was only Catelyn Stark's bitterness towards the symbol of her husband's infidelity that made her claim the girl had seduced the two young men.

So, her new aunt was young, likely vulnerable and traumatized due to her rape. She was coming to a kingdom completely different to her own in every possible way, both cultural and geographical. She had risen from bastard daughter to Princess of Dorne and chatelaine of Sunspear without warning, and would be separated from her family and friends by weeks' worth of ship travel. Such a situation would make her easy to manipulate.

The question was, how could Arianne use the girl to return to Sunspear to work on gaining her place on the Sunchair?


	10. Ned 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF. This is just the one chapter, as the next is the wedding and feast. **

**AN: There is a mention of the Master of Winter in this chapter, that is explained in the Background Info. **

**Also, according to A Wiki of Ice and Fire, Branda Stark was the older sister of Ned and his siblings' mother Lyarra. She married Harrold Rogers, a Stormlands Lord, and there is no mention of her having any children. I changed it, so she married Lord Whitehill, a Stark bannerman, and had a son and three daughters. **

**Finally, you will note in this chapter that praying for a child's death is treated as an actual attempt to kill said child. This is because this is a medieval era society, with deeply ingrained religious beliefs. As far as the people of Westeros are concerned, praying for somebody's death and actually trying to kill them with your own two hands are the same thing.**

**Now, as usual, read, enjoy and review!**

**Chapter Nine**

**Ned Two**

_**Winterfell: 28**__**th**__**, August 297 After Conquest**_

"So, we will supply enough lumber to allow Dorne to build a fleet of twenty warships, as well as the craftsmen to design and build them, and several of our navy officers to train some of your men to sail them," Ned summarized the agreement just made. "And in return, the North will receive a monopoly on the dragonglass found in the Torrentine Mountains. Agreed?"

"Aye, agreed," Prince Oberyn drawled. "I still fail to understand why the North is so obsessed with dragonglass," he added idly. "It is worthless everywhere else."

"Dragonglass is sacred," Ned replied flatly. "The Old Gods bless it. Everywhere else may think it worthless, but to the Winter Lands, it is priceless."

It was the only thing save fire that worked against the Others, and Ned's bannermen would happily trade their keeps for a shard of it. With the increasing reports of wight sightings coming from both the Watch and the Twilight Troopers, coming at the same time as Stannis Baratheon admitted that Dragonstone's own store of the precious resource was beginning to dry up, Ned had been frantic to find a solution. There was nothing to be done about the wights themselves save to endure as the North had always done. But the admission that the Dornish had recently come across a store of it in their mountains was a sweet blessing. Supplying his daughter's future people with a navy they would no doubt use against his former foster-brother and the man's family was a small price to pay to ensure the protection of his people.

'_The Old Gods entrusted the responsibility of guarding and guiding the people of the Winter Lands to our family, Ned,' _he recalled his mother telling him as a child. _'It is our Gods-given duty to do so. Honour is all well and good, but if you must ever choose between your honour and your people, then ask yourself which is better for the majority when Winter comes. A dead man with an impeccable reputation, or a living, strong leader who is known to be ruthless in the defence of those he cares for? Remember this, my son. The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. A Stark's pack is not just the family, but__** all **__of those we rule.'_

Sometimes he wondered if Lyarra Stark had been gifted with a shard of greensight. She had always seemed to know that he would be the one to ascend as Magnar of the Winter Lands, not Brandon. At least, she had looked at his elder brother with a sad, resigned look, and spent many hours with Ned, teaching him about how to rule (for while she lived, Lyarra Stark had been as much the Warden of the North as Rickard had been. Their marriage had been a true partnership.) and drilling the importance of their heritage into him.

He pushed those thoughts away, returning to the present. "Very well then," he nodded. "If we are settled with that, I believe that the only thing left to do is write up the final draft and sign it. Yes?"

"Indeed," the prince confirmed. "And the wedding will be on the final day of this month?"

"Yes, First Men weddings always take place at twilight of the final day of the month," Ned explained. "In order to symbolize that the couple's previous life as two different people is ending, and with the rise of the sun on the new month, they start a new life as one person."

"I see," Oberyn hummed.

"A fascinating tradition," Ser Myles commented. "I am stunned by the depth of intricacy in your culture. I shall have to research it more. But that is for later. Magnar Stark, if you would pass me your notes, I will write the final draft of the contract up and present it for your and Prince Oberyn's approval on the morrow."

Ned handed over his notes, then adjusted his surcoat and cleared his throat. "Ahem, Robb, Ser Myles, I would appreciate a few moments to speak privately with Prince Oberyn."

The Viper raised an eyebrow at that, but waved his hand in dismissal when his companion glanced questioningly at him. Robb bowed respectfully to them both before leaving.

Absently, Ned noted that he ought to get started on choosing a bride for his son once Alys' wedding was over. _Not_ a Southron, however, no matter how many tantrums Catelyn threw about it. He would not allow the mistake of making an Andal the Lady of Winterfell to occur again if he could stop it. The Manderlys had a girl the right age, as did the Karstarks, off the top of his head. But the Manderlys had been favoured already recently when he elevated Lord Wyman to Vice Admiral, while Robb had fostered with the Karstarks. It would be insulting to his other loyal bannermen to give too much to certain families. He would have to think on it more. Perhaps one of the lesser families, whom they had not joined with for several generations.

That was for later, however. Right now, he needed to speak to the snake.

He pulled out a letter he'd received that morning and cleared his throat again, glancing at his soon-to-be goodson (and, oh, wasn't that a painful thought. Ned doubted that even a god would be good enough for his and Lyanna's sweet girl).

"I received this letter from my cousin in King's Landing this morning," he began.

The Viper blinked. "I was not aware you had a cousin in the capital," he admitted, before pausing. "Unless you mean to speak of the Master of Winter, Lord Donnel Whitehill? He is your cousin?"

"Aye," Ned confirmed with a nod. "He is the son of my late Aunt Branda and her husband, Lord Harrold Whitehill. He has three sisters also, Lady Lyarra Sunderland, who's husband is heir to that House, Lady Arya Snowstark who is regent for her son Lord Ondrew and Lady Elissa Seastark, Lord Beron's wife. You will meet them all at the wedding, I am sure.

But that is irrelevant to the discussion. Donnel writes reports to me often, and this arrived this morning, as I said. It appears that the king has decided to hold a tourney and several feasts to celebrate Alys and your's Marking."

Personally, Ned disapproved, but was unsurprised. Robert would take any excuse to throw a tourney. He had always loved feasts, and from the letters they exchanged, as well as those he received from Jon Arryn, Robert had never grown up, despite his responsibilities. In fact, being king seemed to have made him even worse than before. But when the Crown was millions of dragons in debt (including a minor loan, minor in comparison to the others, that is, to the Winter Lands. Ned had been reluctant to give it when Jon had asked the year prior, but had given in to his former foster father's pleas. Ned seriously doubted he would get it back.), Robert ought to have focused on being more fiscally responsible. Ned supposed that having the tourney at the same time as a Faith holiday was Robert's idea of 'cutting back'.

Prince Oberyn's mouth twisted in distaste. "Yes, mine brother sent me a letter alerting me to that also. I am told it is to be held in around four moons, to coincide with the Mother's Feast. Magnara Alyssa and I will barely set foot in Dorne before having to leave it for King's Landing."

"Is there any point to even going to Dorne, then?" Ned wondered, momentarily distracted.

"I will not bring any of daughters, nor my ward, to that place," the Viper hissed, looking and sounding uncannily like his namesake animal as his eyes flashed dangerously. "If it were an option, I would not bring my bride there either."

Ned nodded simply in agreement again. He didn't like the thought of his daughters being in that cursed place where his father, brother and beloved had been murdered. The thought of Alys stepping foot in the keep where so many of her ancestors had died bloodily made him shudder.

He didn't like that he was losing two daughters to the Red Viper's care at once either. But he also knew that, with Arya's wildness, the freedom given by Dorne to its ladies would suit her better. With her large dowry, illustrious lineage and the beauty she would no doubt become when she flowered, he was confident that she would be able to find a husband that truly loved her and let her blossom, instead of stifling her. In addition, his eldest and youngest girls were attached at the hip. Having her favourite sister with her as she adjusted to her new home would do Alys the world of good. And Arya would probably run away to Dorne if Ned had refused Prince Oberyn's offer to foster her in his and Alys' household.

"At any rate, I wanted to tell you that, when you are at the Red Keep, you ought to speak privately with Donnel," Ned told the other man. "It will not appear strange for you to dine with him and his wife, given Alys is their cousin. When you do so, Donnel will give you any information he has to aid in destroying the Lannisters. I sent him orders to begin gathering information to take them down when Alys' Mark appeared."

Ned was a plain-spoken man who disapproved of lying to allies (Alys' heritage being an exception to everything), so he saw no point in acting as if he wasn't going to help the Martells in their quest for vengeance. And killing the Lannisters fit nicely into his own goal of protecting the pack. The lions were a danger to his children, so they needed to go. Several greenseers had reported dreams of the Lannisters killing his children in various futures during the seemingly-inevitable war. He was less concerned with his own possible death at their hands, but any threat to his children had to be dealt with. Getting justice for his daughter's murdered half-siblings was only the icing on the cake.

The Viper stared at him in blatant shock, and Ned tried to keep his smugness at catching the man off-guard hidden.

"What?" Prince Oberyn finally stated, looking bewildered. "Why-?"

"Two reasons, Your Highness," Ned interrupted him. "First of all, when you marry my daughter before the heart tree, she will pledge to take on your feuds, as you will pledge to take on hers. The feud of one of the Pack is the feud of us all. Therefore the Starks will use all of our not-inconsiderable resources to see justice done for the deaths of Princess Elia and her babes. Secondly, the murder of a child is a crime in the eyes of the Old Gods. I sought justice for them when it first occurred, but I failed to gain it and, after losing Lyanna and finding Alys and her mother's death, I was too grief-stricken and weary of war to press the manner, to my shame.

I returned North instead of pushing for the Mountain and Lorch's punishments, and for that I owe your family a debt. I failed in my duty to the Gods once, I will not do so again. I hate the Game of Thrones that is played in the South. That does not mean I cannot play it."

The Prince eyed him thoughtfully, lips pursed. "Loathe as I am to admit it," he finally drawled. "I understand why Asha loved you so."

Ned flinched at the mention of his lost love. "I loved her also," he stated abruptly, not wanting to let anybody, especially Asha's foster brother, think he had not. "Even with my wife, even though my daughter was born a year after her death to another woman I loved dearly, I loved her fiercely. She was truly a star fallen from the heavens."

"Aye, she was," Prince Oberyn agreed in a husky voice. He added with a note of curiosity. "I am not one to judge. The Gods would not give us the ability to love if they did not expect us to do so. But who was my would-have-been goodmother? I know only that she died birthing Magnara Alyssa."

Ned clenched his jaw and looked away. "One of the dearest women to ever live," he replied softly after a moment, remembering Lya's life and bright smile. "Asha knew I loved her," he added defensively. "She never doubted that I didn't love herself also."

"Aye, Ashara was born with a heart of gold," the Viper sighed wistfully. "Damn Aerys to the worst of the seven hells."

"I would drink to that," Ned agreed. He was about to go on, when yelling could suddenly be heard from the hall. He and the Prince were on their feet in seconds, dashing for the door. Just in case, Ned grabbed Ice and handed the Viper a dagger he kept on the bookshelf. He doubted it would be necessary inside the heavily-guarded keep, but it always better to be safe than sorry.

They arrived quickly at the source of the commotion. Catelyn was shrieking furiously, a red handprint across her cheek. Alys was glaring back at her, showing that she too had the wolf's blood, despite her typically demure and gentle attitude. Robb was at his sister's side, looking infuriated and spitting at Catelyn to "shut up, you heretical, selfish hag! The gods will damn you for what you just said!" Ser Myles was also there, adding his own angry comments.

"This could be constructed as the attempted murder of a Martell of Dorne!" he was declaring. "Prince Doran and Prince Oberyn have the right to demand your head, madam."

"What is going on here?" Ned bellowed. Alys turned at the sound of his voice, half-flying into his arms and burying her head in his chest. She shook with sobs of hurt and fury in his arms. "Hush, sweetling, it's alright," he soothed her automatically, running a hand through her dark curls. "What happened, dearest? Tell me."

"I'll tell you what happened, my lord husband!" Catelyn spat. "Your bastard _attacked_ me! Under mine own roof! I told you all bastards are-"

"Silence, Catelyn!" Ned snapped. "I was not speaking to you."

"Do not speak of my betrothed in such a manner, Madam," the Viper added with cold fury. "I will not tolerate her being treated with anything less than the respect owed to a Princess of Dorne. She is the legitimate daughter of Magnar Stark, and will be treated as such."

"My father's castle, my grandfather's before him and my brother's after," Alys snarled at the same time as her betrothed scolded Catelyn, pulling her head away from Ned to glare at Catelyn with uncharacteristic venom in her teary eyes. "Never yours! And I was justified in doing so! Father, you ask what occurred?

Lady Catelyn confronted me as I was on my way to the hall for luncheon. She accused me of stealing Arya and corrupting her, as well as making some despicable comments about Dorne and its culture that I refuse to repeat out of respect for my betrothed's people. Then, she had the audacity," here, Alys paused to inhale and exhale deeply, eyes flashing angrily and fists clenching. "To say that I must have used my 'barbaric magical arts' to create the Marks out of the desire to ascend to a higher rank, I suppose due to my supposedly inborn greed and sin," she sneered at that. Ned himself was struggling to hold his own temper, and he had to have Jory clamp a hand over Catelyn's mouth to keep her from interrupting. "Then she, she..." Alys faltered, and Robb stepped in to finish the story, looking enraged.

"Ser Myles and I rounded the corner then, Father, so I can tell you what happened. Lady _Tully,_" Ned noted that, while Robb rarely addressed Catelyn as 'Mother', this was the first time he'd ever used her maiden name. And he spat it out as if the mere name disgusted him. "Told _my sister_, that she hoped the Seven, her supposed_ true _gods, as if our gods are nought more than imagination, would curse her with an empty cradle. She outright said she prayed that any babes Alys had would be sickly and die quickly! Alys was perfectly justified in slapping her saying such heinous things._ I _wanted to slap her myself, but Alys prevented me. Truly, Alys, you are too good."

"How dare you?!" Prince Oberyn bellowed, looking ready to rip Catelyn's throat out himself. "Are you so foolish that you do not realize that any daughters Alyssa bears me will be Princesses of Dorne, and wishing death on one of them is a crime worthy of the death penalty?"

Catelyn's eyes widened in horror and she looked imploringly at Ned. "My lord, I-" she began to say, but he held up his hand to silence her.

"Jory," he ordered in a low tone, struggling to keep from strangling the damn woman himself. "Take Lady Tully to her rooms and lock her in. Nobody is to see her until I say so." She paled, looking stricken at him using her maiden name, but Ned would not allow her to call herself a Stark any longer. His was a long, glory-filled lineage, blessed a dozen times over in a dozen different ways by the Old Gods. He would not allow Catelyn to besmirch his House with her actions.

"Yes, My Magnar," Jory bowed, then grabbed Catelyn's arm tightly and dragged her off, ignoring her protests.

Ned turned to his upset daughter, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Is there anything else I must know before deciding how to deal with her?" he asked. Of course, he knew already what he was going to do, but he wanted to be sure Alys wasn't holding anything back. She shook her head, but Robb nodded.

"Yes, Father, there is," he announced. He seemed oblivious to the Viper and Ser Myles' continuing presence, both of them still simmering at the insult Catelyn had dealt to House Martell. If the Viper poisoned Catelyn, Ned wouldn't even blame the man. Right now, he thought he might even thank him instead.

His sweet girl, how could Catelyn wish for such a thing after they lost two of their own babes? A miscarriage between Sansa and Arya, and a boy named Hoster who'd died within hours of birth five years past. How could Catelyn, who claimed to be a pious woman, wish such heartache on _anybody_, let alone her stepdaughter whom she had watched grow up?

"Years ago, I found an unsent letter from Mother to her sister. I never spoke to you of it, I cannot recall why. Some childish logic, I suppose. She confessed that she was praying to the Stranger for, for," he took a shuddering, angry breath, anger making his fists tremble. "For Alys' death."

Ned felt his eyes widen in utter fury, Alys gasped in shock and the Red Viper growled in fury.

"She will pay for this!" the Viper vowed angrily.

"I see," Ned stated, as coldly as if he were made of the ice that covered the land he ruled. "That makes this all very simple, then. The Prince is correct, Catelyn will not escape consequences for these actions. Robb, take your sister to her room to rest. Your Highness, Ser Myles. I extend House Stark's apologies for this scene. I assure you, Lady Catelyn will regret her actions. Good day to you both."

Before anybody could reply, Ned had stalked away in long strides. First, he was going to find Benjen for a spar and discussion. Then, when his temper had cooled enough to let him avoid beating Catelyn to death, he would go and tell her what her fate would be.

* * *

In the end, four hours passed before Ned felt that he could lay eyes on Catelyn without striking her. Part of him believed that she deserved it, but he had not been raised to abuse those under his power.

She rose quickly and sunk into a deep curtsey from where she'd been sitting on her bed when he entered her rooms, awaiting his permission to rise. Ned scanned the room coolly, letting her sweat a bit. Typically, in the Winter Lands, husbands and wives shared rooms. It didn't say good things about a marriage if the beds were separate. Ned and Catelyn had only ever shared a bed when they were intimate, and he had never enjoyed being such with her. Not when she had several times whispered Brandon's name in their marriage bed and Asha's violet eyes continued to haunt his dreams. Only duty drove him to her bed, and he had always gotten it over with quickly.

"Rise," he finally instructed her, keeping his expression impassive as she hesitantly straightened, watching him warily. "Robb told me of an interesting letter he once found," he said calmly to her. She furrowed her brow in confusion.

"I do not-" she began, but he didn't allow her to finish.

"In it, you confessed to praying for my child's death!" He started off calmly, but found his voice rising when he came to the final, awful words. She paled, her eyes widening in horror.

"Ned, I-" she started, but again he interrupted her.

"I never loved you, not the way a man should love his wife," he admitted bluntly. "But as the mother of four of my children, I did care deeply for you. They are the sole reason I did not set you aside when I discovered the poisonous words you and that dratted Septa were pouring into Alys and Sansa's ears, or when Alys revealed that she would be embarrassed in front of her betrothed and his people due to you spitefully denying her what she needed to create a suitable trousseau. But when it comes to my children, nothing matters more to me than their health and safety. _Nothing._ This was the final straw. That is why you will be leaving for Riverrun, tonight."

"My lord, no!" Catelyn cried. "Ned, please-"

He barrelled on, refusing to listen. "I wash my hands of you entirely. Let your father decide what to do with you, but you may never set foot in the Winter Lands again in my lifetime. Nor Robb's, given his own fury with you. Nor will I allow you to send any letters to the children, least you try and manipulate them into turning against their sister.

Whatever you do not have time to pack before leaving will be sent after you. Of course, you may only take what you brought with you to the marriage. Anything belonging to the Starks will remain here at Winterfell. In addition, I will be sending your Riverlander servants back also. You will take the cart back, as I promised that Prince Oberyn's party could use the wheelhouse to return to White Harbour.

Finally, you may inform your father that I am withdrawing from all trade contracts between the Riverlands and the Winter Lands, and will be recalling any people I have there. Don't be surprised if Dorne does so as well, given that Alys' future children, the ones whos' deaths or non-existence you prayed for, will be members of the Martell clan also."

Catelyn had sunk to her knees, sobbing, when he told her he washing his hands of her. She reached out to him now, her expression imploring. "My lord, please. I will never even speak of the Bas-your daughter again. Don't do this. I will be shamed, and my children need me!"

"None of my children need to be under the influence of a woman such as you, madam," Ned answered coldly, before turning on his heel and stalking back out the door, slamming it tightly behind him and ignoring the sobs he could hear coming from the room.

He was done with Catelyn Tully. The Pack came first, and, more importantly, his children came first. Any enemy to one of them was his enemy also. She had sealed her own fate by trying to kill his daughter. Whatever happened to her from now on was nothing to him.

* * *

Late that night, Ned crept into Alys' bedroom and shook her awake. She jolted back to consciousness, startled and reaching for the knife she kept beneath her pillow, as he insisted all of his children do.

"Hush, sweetling," he whispered to her, the familiar sound of his voice relaxing her out of her panic. "I must speak with you in secret. Put on your warmest cloak and boots. Quickly."

Looking bemused and half-asleep, Alys hastened to obey, tugging on a grey cloak made of sheep's wool and her thick leather riding boots over her nightdress. "Father, what's going on?" she asked tiredly. He could see how drained she was from the long, drama-filled day.

None of the children had come to see Catelyn off. They had been comforting their sister instead. Word of the confrontation had spread quickly, and within hours even Bran knew what his mother had done and how Ned had decided to punish her. His children had all gathered in Alys' bedroom, assuring her that they were on her side and didn't blame her at all. Arya had declared that Catelyn was dead to her, Robb stated he had no mother. Sansa had tearfully declared that the woman she had believed Catelyn to be had been nothing more than imagination, while Bran swore he would never willingly see or speak to her again. They had wanted to share the bed, but Ned had ordered them all to their own rooms, so as to allow him to speak to Alys privately that night. He would let them spend the nights remaining until the wedding in his bed, though. They would not have the opportunity again.

He needed to do this, but it was painful. From now on it would be Alys' decision who knew and did not know of her heritage. He could only pray to the Old Gods that she would forgive him for lying to her and failing her mother.

"I have something to tell you, my sweet daughter," he explained, as he headed to the wall and pulled on a particular brick, making the room's secret passage swing open silently. "But we must go where no one might eavesdrop, even accidentally."

Alys followed him confidently into the tunnel, unalarmed when the Old Tongue runes flared to life and lit up the dark stone hallway. Almost every room in Winterfell had a hidden passageway in it, in order to ensure that the residents of the keep could flee if the walls were ever breached by their enemies. They all led to the same place. The Vault, in the centre of the crypts.

Stored inside the Vault was several thousand journals of various Starks and their spouses. (Stark tradition demanded each Magnar and Magnara Stark write two journals, one a personal one and then one for business. Whenever they started getting illegible from age, the current Magnar copied it out again. This way, the wisdom of their ancestors was passed down through the generations. As said by Benjen the Brilliant 'those who forget history, are doomed to repeat it.').

As well as the journals, there was a significant amount of wealth and their heirlooms and family treasures kept there. Another passage led from the crypts deep into the Wolfswood, so that the family could gather whatever they needed most from the Vault and escape safely if needed. In order to ensure they knew the route by heart, every Stark was shown as a child how to navigate the tunnels. Arya had taken her first steps in the Vault, the first time he brought her down there with her elder siblings.

They made their way down to the Vault in silence. Ned was brooding over how to tell his daughter the truth without losing her, while Alys was both too worn out and too respectful of her father to press him for answers as to what they were doing.

Finally, they reached the Vault. Benjen was waiting for them, turning a yellowed envelope over in his hands. For once, he too bore a brooding expression instead of a cheerful smile. He still smiled at his niece and brother when they entered, though.

"Uncle?" Alys blinked. "What are you doing here? What's going on?"

"Your father and I have something to tell you, Niece," Benjen explained, giving her a hug.

"I decided that I would tell you in here, Sweetling, because it's the safest place in Winterfell," Ned told Alys, gesturing for her to sit down on an old chair made of weirwood before sitting beside Ben and across from her. He leaned over and took her tiny hands in his own, marvelling at how much she'd grown.

He wished he didn't have to do this, but Benjen was right. People who had known the damn dragon prince would meet his daughter when she went South. Alys had to be on guard, to protect herself. He could not place her safety above his selfish desire to keep her with him. In less than a week, Alys would be a woman wed, and had already taken on the two youngest Sand Snakes as her own babes. Much as he loathed to admit it, she was no longer the tiny babe who would only sleep when he held her to his chest, or even the small girl who wandered the hallways of their family home, singing in a voice beautiful enough to bring hardened warriors to tears. She was an adult, and she needed to hear the truth from him, not a stranger seeking to manipulate her.

"Tell me what?" Alys asked nervously, eyes wide as she bit her lip.

Ned inhaled deeply before reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "Firstly, sweetling, I want you to promise me something. Promise that you will always remember how much I love you, and that, no matter what, you will always be my daughter. _Always_."

Looking confused and worried, Alys nodded. "I will, Father," she murmured gently. "I swear it."

"Good," Ned exhaled, then froze, at a loss as to how to proceed. Thankfully, Benjen was ever-loyal and took over for him.

"What do you know of the Rebellion, sweetling? What happened to start it? Don't worry about bringing up bad memories, just tell us everything you know."

Alys blinked in bemusement but answered carefully. "Whilst at Riverrun for Uncle Brandon's marriage to, for Uncle Brandon's marriage, Aunt Lyanna went with several guards, including her Warg Guard, and a handmaiden to visit the Isle of Faces. On the way there, they were ambushed by Prince Rhaegar, Sers Oswell Whent and Gerold Hightower of the Kingsguard, Lord Jon Connington and several goldcloaks. They killed Aunt Lyanna's guards and injured her handmaiden, then kidnapped her. Her handmaiden managed to get back to Riverrun and tell Uncle Brandon what happened.

Enraged, he went to King's Landing and demanded the Prince's head, and for that he was arrested. His companions were all arrested, along with, with Father's betrothed Lady Dayne. Then the Mad King ordered Grandfather to come and answer for Uncle's actions. All three of them were executed when he arrived. The Mad King then sent out letters demanding that Lord Arryn and the Northern lords surrender yourself, Uncle Benjen and the then-Lord Robert Baratheon for execution on grounds of treason.

Lord Arryn, King Robert and you called the banners instead. Lord Tully agreed to support your cause if you took Uncle's place in the betrothal to Lady Catelyn, and Lord Arryn married his other daughter Lysa. The fighting lasted a year, during which King Robert slew Prince Rhaegar on the Trident, before Lannister forces sacked King's Landing, killing the remainder of the royal family. However, Queen Rhaella and her younger son, Prince Viserys, had been sent to Dragonstone before that, and managed to escape.

You finally found out where Aunt Lyanna was being held after the Sack. But she had caught an illness from her captivity, and she died shortly after you arrived. You then collected me from my mother, and returned to Winterfell with myself, Rosael and Aunt Lyanna's body."

Alys fell silent, looking between them. "I still don't understand," she admitted. "What does the Rebellion have to do with anything?"

"The whole realm knew that Prince Rhaegar was obsessed with having three children," Ned revealed. "Or at least, that was how it seemed to me. And he was fixated on it being two girls and a son."

Alys started to shake her head as he spoke, realization beginning to dawn. She had always been an intelligent girl. Ned forced himself to go on despite the tears welling in her violet-grey orbs.

"He had read of a prophecy as a child, and that was how his own madness manifested. An obsession with the three-headed dragon, the 'prince that was promised'. But Princess Elia barely survived Princess Rhaenys and Prince Aegon's births, and it was said that she was made barren by the baby prince's birth. She could not provide another babe for Rhaegar. That was why he went after Lyanna. Because of he believed she was the one destined to give birth to the 'song of ice and fire'. Ice for the Starks and fire for the Targaryens.

But the Tower of Joy was isolated, and she was given no care save for what Rosael could provide. It was not simply a fever that killed Lyanne, sweetling, but childbed fever. She loved you so much sweetling. All she cared about when I found her was you. The first thing she said to me after greeting me was 'isn't she the most beautiful babe you ever laid eyes on?'"

"Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen are my parents?" Alys rasped, tears spilling from her eyes. "I am a child of rape? The result of a madman's actions that led to the realm being torn apart?"

"You are my daughter," Ned insisted. "And regardless of how you came to life, do not doubt for a second that Lyanna loved you with all of her heart. As she died, all her strength was spent on holding you and pleading for me to protect you."

"How can you not despise me?" Alys wept. "When I killed-"

"Sweetling, you are _my daughter,_" Ned repeated. "As you were Lya's. When you are a parent, you will understand."

"Lya wrote letters," Benjen finally spoke, holding out the old envelope he held. "One for Ned and I. And one for you."

Alys swallowed thickly, her hand trembling as she reached out to accept the letter.


	11. The Wedding

**Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT. Thanks to everyone reviewing, following, etc, this story. I'm so delighted that it's so well-liked, I really am. **

**This chapter and the next are written so that they alternate between Alys and Oberyn's POVs, but after it'll go back to one POV per chapter.**

**I tried to attach the links to Alys dress, hair and jewellery but it wouldn't work. Anybody know how to do that?**

**You won't learn the whole letter from Lyanna to Alys just yet, but there's a snippet of it. The whole letter will be read later.**

**I have slightly changed and lengthened the godswood wedding ceremony, btw.**

**Read, enjoy, and review!**

**Chapter Ten**

**The Wedding**

_**Winterfell: 31**__**st**__** August, 297 After Conquest**_

Lately, it seemed as if every time she blinked, Alys' life had changed somehow. Two moons' ago, she had been Marked by the Gods. Two _weeks_ ago, she'd met her betrothed. Only a few days' ago, her father had sent away his wife and revealed the truth of her heritage. Now, she was being wed. She would no longer be Lady Alyssa Snow of Winterfell, or even Magnara Alyssa Stark of Winterfell, but Princess Alyssa Martell of Dorne.

Or rather, she thought as her thoughts drifted yet again to the letter, hidden under the false bottom in her jewellery box, Princess _Alysanne_ Martell.

_I will name you Alysanne, for three different women, _her mother had written. _Firstly, for Good Queen Alysanne. It is my hope that you will have her compassion and strong mind. Secondly, for Black Aly, Cregan Stark's wife. I pray the Gods will gift you with her strength and battle-skills, for I fear you will need them. Finally, I name you for my dearest friend, Alysanne Snow, my late Warg Guard, who fell protecting me. There can be no finer namesake for my only daughter._

Alys quickly shook those thoughts away. It bemused her that her birth name wasn't written across Prince Oberyn's wrist, but she was grateful for it. The Name Alysanne of House Targaryen on the wrist of a Dornish Prince would only cause bloodshed, of that she was certain. She had no desire to sit on the Iron Throne, to rule. Being a princess of Dorne didn't appeal to her either, but she had no choice in that. The Iron Throne, however, was another manner. Her father had promised her that if she ever changed her mind, the North would stand at her side. But Alys doubted that day would ever come.

"You look beautiful, Alys," Sansa declared, looking awed. Even Arya nodded in agreement.

Alys forced a smile at her sisters (_cousins_, a dark voice in the back of her mind reminded her.). "Thank you, sweetlings," she murmured, gazing at her reflection. It felt like a stranger was staring back. Who was this person in the mirror? Not her, surely.

Despite the hasty designing and creation, her dress had turned out beautifully, Alys had to acknowledge. It was an almost-ivory shade of white, with gold embroidery around the neckline and hems. Thin gold laces wrapped around her upper arms and hung down from the belt sewn onto the bottom of the bodice. The dress itself was covered in delicate Myrish lace in a delicate, barely-detectable snowflake pattern. Her Aunt Lyanna, her _mother's_, maiden cloak was wrapped around her shoulders. It was in Stark colours, made of grey wool with a white direwolf running across the back. Fake winter roses made of royal blue satin were sewn around the edge of the hood and the hem.

Her feet were covered in a pair of delicate silk white slippers and her make-up was light and simple. Some rouge on her lips and cheekbones, a bit of purple kohl on her eyelids, bringing out the violet in them.

Her curls had been tamed using some fancy oils gifted to her by Lady Delonne, then pulled back into a gentle braid that spilled down her back, with several strands left free to frame her face. A series of delicate-looking winter roses were threaded through the braid, while a delicate silver circlet was placed around her temples, to symbolize her new status as a Princess (_you have been __**more **__than a princess your entire life,_ the dark voice whispered. _You are the rightful Queen of Westeros._).

Other than the gold circlet, her jewellery was miniscule for a Magnara becoming a Princess, the first marriage alliance between the Martells and Starks in history. A silver necklace in the shape of a rose with a small diamond in the centre that had been a gift from her Grandfather Rickard to her Grandmother Lyarra on their wedding day hung from her neck, resting just above her breasts. She had a pair of silver earrings dangling from her earlobes. They had once belonged to her mother. Sansa had loaned her a silver torc-styled ring in the shape of a wolf's head that she wore on her left hand. Finally, she wore a dragon bracelet around her right wrist.

It had been a part of Visenya Targaryen's trousseau. Alys had picked it because she'd always enjoyed reading of her famous Valyrian ancestress, and she felt a connection to the woman who had been Marked and become her distant grandmother as a result. Now she wore it as silent homage to the other side of her heritage. Regardless of what Aerys and Rhaegar had done, many of her Targaryen ancestors had been great, and they had ended years of warfare with the Conquest. She was trying to focus on that rather than the_ other _things.

She had chosen all of her Stark jewellery before learning the truth. Yet all of her pieces had belonged, at some point, to either her mother or to Visenya Targaryen. It seemed almost like a jest of the Gods.

"Do you have everything?" Rosael asked, looking misty eyed as she tucked a lock of Alys' hair behind her ear. "Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue and a dragon in your shoe?"

Alys nodded, beginning to check them off. This Dornish tradition came from the Rhoynar apparently, and Alys was determined not to follow Lady Catelyn's example. She wasn't prepared to give up all of the things that mattered to her from the North, but she would adapt as much as she could to her husband's culture. Even if the thought of being seen in Dornish fashion made her cheeks go scarlet.

"My earrings are old," Alys recited. "And my dress is new. I borrowed Sansa's ring, and the winter roses are all blue. And yes, I definitely have a coin in my shoe." It was digging into her heel painfully, and Alys planned to remove it before the dancing, least her foot start bleeding or something equally embarrassing.

"Well then," Aunt Dacey murmured, reaching out to adjust the maiden cloak around Alys' shoulders. It felt oddly heavy. "Arya, go and fetch your father, would you? The ceremony will start soon."

Arya, who's anger over the whole affair had quickly been replaced by delight when she was told she would be going to Dorne as well, jumped to her feet and ran for the door. Alys smiled affectionately after her youngest sister, silently relieved when the ladies discreetly exited after the young girl, leaving Alys alone with Sansa.

"You look lovely, Alys," Sansa sniffed, eyes bright. "The prettiest bride in history. They could write a song, just about how lovely you are."

Alys smiled at her gently, opening her arms for Sansa to dart into her embrace. She wrapped her arms firmly around Sansa and held her close, pressing a kiss to Sansa's red tresses, done in a crown braid.

"Thank you, sweetling," Alys murmured. She pulled away a bit to meet her sister's eyes. "I love you so, alright? You can always write to me if you need me. I swear, I will always answer."

"And the same for me," Sansa promised earnestly. "You will send me paintings of Dorne and King's Landing? I want to know everything. Maybe I can come and visit you and Arya?"

She looked wistful, and Alys hid a wince of guilt. Arya was coming with her, but Sansa would be left behind to be acting Lady of Winterfell, at only one-and-ten.

"I hope so, sweetling," Alys replied. "And yes, of course I will send paintings and stories. It will be as if you were there. Remember to look after the boys and Father, alright? You are Lady of Winterfell now, and the Gods know that men are helpless with anything not involving their swords," she jested, making Sansa grin and giggle.

"I will," Sansa promised again, before they exchanged kisses on each other's cheeks. "I love you, Alys," Sansa told her with wide blue eyes. "So much. The Gods blessed us with you as our sister."

Alys felt her breath catch in her throat, widening her own eyes to keep the tears in them from falling. Sansa could not possibly understand how much those words meant to her, and Alys pulled her back into another hug.

"I will always be your older sister, Sansa," Alys vowed. "No matter what, you, Robb, Arya and Bran are always my siblings, and dearer to me than life itself."

"And you to us," Sansa agreed.

The door opened then, and Magnar Stark stepped in. His own breath caught when he saw Alys, and he strode over to hug his elder girls.

"You're a vision, Daughter," he declared gruffly to Alys. He had taken to calling her 'Daughter' since he had admitted the truth to her. Alys wasn't sure why, but thought that he perhaps wanted to remind her of his promise to always love her as his own. And for all her hurt and anger at his lies, she didn't doubt that everything he had done, he did out of love and the desire to protect her and his children by blood. How could she resent any of that?

"Thank you, Father," she replied softly. Sansa kissed both of their cheeks than scurried out the door, holding up her skirts to keep them from brushing the floor.

"Are you ready?" Ned asked her gently.

Alys gave a rueful smile. "Not at all," she admitted honestly. "But I don't think I ever will be, either. So we might as well do it now."

"We could always put it off a few more years," Magnar Stark japed. "Til the man keels over, mayhaps."

Alys laughed dryly, neither of them mentioning the many flaws in that argument, the main one being that, soon after her husband died, so too would Alyssa, or vice versa.

"Let's go," Alys sighed, smoothing down her skirts. "It will be twilight soon."

Should they miss the chance to say the vows that evening, they would have to wait another moon. Considering Prince Oberyn's desire to return to Sunspear and drop off Arya and his daughters before they headed to King's Landing, that was hardly an option. And it was bad luck to have a First Men's wedding on any other day. So basically, it was now or never, whether Alys felt prepared or not.

Her father-uncle nodded solemnly and offered his arm. She tucked her own into his elbow and kept her head high and back straight as they began making their way towards the godswood.

* * *

"How can any person survive in this cold?" Oberyn grumbled quietly to Delonne, "No wonder Northerners are all so sullen. I would be too, growing up in the coldest of the seven hells."

"The seven hells are warm, Cousin," Delonne reminded him with a smirk, even as she tugged her sheepskin cloak tighter around her shoulders. She was wearing thick woollen tights, a dress also made of wool and a pair of boots. His three daughters were similarly dressed, and Daemon also wore wool and furs.

Oberyn's pride, however, had refused to allow him to wear the clothes pre-made from inferior cloth they had bought so hastily. Instead, he wore Dornish silk, and it was not remotely warm enough for the weather. His Dornish-styled robe was a dark gold made to look like it was made of scales, and underneath he wore a thin, dark orange shirt with the laces undone to show the top of his chest, and a pair of dark brown breeches tucked into his black leather boots. His favourite coronet, golden and shaped like a snake with a pair of rubies for eyes, was around his head and his sword hung from his belt. The only concession he had made to the icy wind was a pair of leather gloves lined with sheepskin borrowed from Benjen Lystark.

Only blood relatives and the greenseer officiating were allowed to witness the ceremony, and his group had arrived first. It consisted of himself, Delonne, Daemon and his three daughters. Lord Howland Reed, the High Greenseer, had arrived second, making them start in surprise at the way he seemed to melt out of the trees.

The next to arrive were Robb Stark and his full siblings. Young Arya, who's attitude reminded Oberyn of his own daughters, was shamelessly letting her dress trail through the snow as she carried her torch and Sansa was chiding her for it. The elder of the two girls looked as impeccable as she always did, holding her skirts safely off of the ground with one hand as the other held up a lantern. Young Lord Bran greeted them absently, hung up his own torch, then made his way to Lord Reed to speak with him softly in the Old Tongue. Oberyn briefly wondered if it had to do with the greensight that Lord Reed was training Bran in the use of.

Robb Stark made his way to Oberyn, a determined glint in his eye. "Your Highness, I would speak with you," he declared.

Oberyn smirked casually. He'd already heard pointed comments from Magnar Stark and Lord Lystark of how dear Alys was to their family and that they would all happily raise arms for her. Given the utter loathing for him that the Heir of the Winter Lands failed to hide, Oberyn was only surprised that it had taken the lad so long.

"Of course, my lord," Oberyn agreed cheerily. "What word would you prefer, yes, no? Perhaps spear? There are many words in existence after all, though I confess, I am unsure how to help you claim possession of any of them, regardless of my genius."

The young man ignored Oberyn's jesting, instead stalking over to the far side of the clearing, out of earshot of the rest of the gathering. Oberyn strolled after him casually.

"I take it this the required 'touch my sister and I will call my banners' speech?" Oberyn asked lightly.

"You jape, but I am completely serious," Robb answered coolly. "I do not know how you see it, Your Highness, but as far as I can see, you have the better end of the deal. My father was more than generous in the negotiations, and you will have a sweet, clever and beautiful young woman as your bride. Meanwhile, my sister is having to leave her home and our family, to marry a man she just met who is older than our father. I have always been told to protect my sisters, especially Alys as she has always been most vulnerable. I do not like entrusting that responsibility to you."

"And why is that?" Oberyn questioned, slightly offended and uncomfortable at the truth of Robb's words.

Robb glanced stonily at him, eyes narrowed. "You know your reputation, my lord," he answered flatly. "Knowing that my sister will ever be vulnerable to you does not reassure me."

"I have never raised a hand to a woman under my protection in my life, nor would I," Oberyn snapped, indignant.

"But she will feel your pain, die within months of you," Robb pointed out, making Oberyn fall silent. "You have a tendency to get into duels, milord. Even you acknowledge that you lose your temper easily. What will happen if my sister is with child, then you get injured in a duel or tourney or whatever, and she loses her babe? I swear, by the Old Gods, that if I hear you are endangering my sister by being reckless, I will take action. After all, if Alys were unconscious from dreamwine or milk of the poppy, then she wouldn't feel me cutting off your limbs."

Oberyn had to admit it, if silently. He was impressed by the boy's dedication to his sister. There was no doubt or hesitation in the lad's voice and expression, and he had clearly put a disturbing amount of thought into how to deal with the bond and avenge his sister's honour if needed. He met Robb's gaze firmly.

"I too had a sister who was my other half," Oberyn told the boy. "And I too had to give her up to a man not worthy to lick her shoes. I will not take your sister for granted, I swear it by the Old Gods and the New."

Robb relaxed slightly, and Oberyn found himself impulsively adding.

"A three week trip by ship is not so long. I do not see why Alys moving to Dorne should prevent her from visiting her family."

"Aye," Robb agreed cheerfully, his threatening expression lightened. It turned serious again though, as he added. "You have made an oath in a godswood, on all of the gods. I will hold you to it, Your Highness."

"Alys and Father are coming!" Bran suddenly called, before Oberyn could say anything else. Quickly, Oberyn made his way to the heart tree while Robb went to stand beside his siblings. Surprisingly, the girls were silent and solemn, quiet even though they had all fussed over him not letting them carry lanterns like Sarella, Delonne, Daemon and Alys' siblings all did. Oberyn blamed the air of the godswood. The Old Gods were definitely watching the proceedings.

Alys entered the clearing on her father's arm, pale-faced and resolute. Oberyn tried to smile reassuringly at her, wanting to ease the nerves he could feel her dealing with. She gave a strained smile back as she and Magnar Stark made their way to the heart tree. From the look on Stark's face, you might've thought he were escorting his daughter to the block, not the altar.

In the Winter Lands, marriages between followers of the Old Gods were unacknowledged if they took place in a sept. In Dorne however, while the majority followed the Seven, there were large minorities following the Rhoynar and the Old Gods, so all marriages were considered legal if they were witnessed and consummated. That being said, Oberyn knew very little about how this ceremony would proceed, save for the vows he'd been taught.

"Who comes before the Old Gods on this eve?" Lord Reed called in a voice that seemed too powerful for such a tiny man.

"Magnara Alyssa of House Stark, a maiden, noble and flowered, comes before the Old Gods," Magnar Stark replied, looking pained. As a father, Oberyn sympathized, even if his pride stung at how glumly all of the Starks were taking the match between Alyssa and himself.

"Who comes before the Old Gods this eve?" Lord Reed repeated, turning to Oberyn.

"Oberyn, of House Nymeros Martell," Oberyn responded. "Comes to claim Magnara Alyssa of House Stark as his wife."

Lord Reed turned to Alyssa. "Do you take this man as your husband?" he asked her, an affectionate glint in his eye. Oberyn recalled that Alys had off-handedly told him that Lord Reed was her 'godfather' a Northern tradition which basically meant that, should her father have died before she reached her majority and wed, Lord Reed would have received her guardianship and been required to treat her like his own.

"Do you vow to take his feuds, his sorrows and his joys as your own feuds, sorrows and joys? To love, be faithful to and honour him all of your lives? To become one in the eyes of the Old Gods who watch us now?"

Despite her inner strain, Alyssa nodded confidently. "I take this man," she agreed. "His feuds are my feuds. His sorrows are my sorrows, and his joys are my joys. I will love, be faithful to and honour him all our lives. This I swear in the eyes of the Old Gods."

Lord Reed turned back to Oberyn again. "Do you, Oberyn of House Nymeros Martell, take this woman as your bride? Do you vow to take her feuds as your feuds, her sorrows and joys as your own? Do you pledge to defend and care for her all of your lives, taking no other save she to your bed and honouring her all of your lives? Do you swear to this in the eyes of the Old Gods who watch us now?"

"I take this woman as my bride," Oberyn agreed calmly. "Her feuds are my feuds. Her sorrows and joys are mine. I will defend and care for her, taking no other to my bed and honouring her all of our lives. This I swear in the eyes of the Old Gods."

Lord Reed nodded solemnly and stepped aside, gesturing to the heart tree. "Kneel in front of the heart tree for the Gods to judge and bless your marriage," he instructed them.

They went forward and knelt. As he had been told to do, Oberyn placed his own hand on the root beside his wife's delicate one, closing his eyes to rest for a moment. He nearly jolted when he felt something crawling over his hand.

* * *

She prayed for the same things she'd been praying for since the Name had appeared. Safety, strength, comfort. She added a plea for the gods to protect her family, both old and new. Then she begged for the strength to reconcile with the revelation of her heritage, and guidance on what to do with the knowledge.

Unlike the shock she felt from her new husband, Alys was unsurprised to feel the root growing out and twining around her and the prince's wrists, binding them together. Silently, she begged the Gods not to let it show the truth of her bloodline. She was not ready, she told them. Please.

When she opened her eyes, she and her husband both had bracelets made of weirwood wrapped around their left wrists. Like all Marriage Bracelets, they symbolized herself and her groom and were entirely unique.

In their case, it showed a viper with the symbol of House Martell on its' head, wrapped with what looked like a direwolf. At first she didn't notice it, but when Alys looked more carefully, her breath caught. You wouldn't see it if you didn't look, dismissing it as the snake that was wrapped around the wolf, but the direwolf had a pair of dragon wings folded against its back.

Her husband, clearly surprised by the bracelets (why had no one mentioned it to him, she wondered. She herself had not done so because she assumed he knew. Clearly she'd been wrong.) helped her to her feet again, and they turned back to the audience. The Dornish looked fascinated, and Sarella had a glint in her eyes that Alys now recognized as signalling her fourth stepdaughter's desire to study something.

"You may now remove the lady's maiden cloak," Uncle Howland told Prince Oberyn. "And replace it with the cloak of your House. With this act, she will leave the protection of her birth family and enter your own."

The prince nodded curtly, turning to Alys. She felt herself digging her fingernails into her palms as he undid the cloak and handed it off to her sorrowful father, uncle, _father._ Then her husband accepted the orange cloak Ser Daemon held out to him. It was made of silk, and on the back of it was the gold spear piercing the red sun that symbolized her new House.

Alys was rarely cold, even in the centre of the North, but she felt herself shiver as her maiden cloak was removed and replaced by her wedding one.

"The wedding is now over!" Uncle Howland decreed. "Let no mortal tear asunder what the Gods have brought together!"

"So mote it be!" everyone watching called, even the little ones, though Loreza and Dorea were several seconds late, their words coming as echoes to the rest.

A moment later, Alys let out a squeak of surprise as her new husband swept her up into his arm and proceeded to carry her to the hall, where they were greeted by cheers and celebrations that strongly contrasted Alys' own feeling of shock.

It was hard to believe, even as she entered the decorated Great Hall, that she was a woman wed now.


	12. The Feast

**Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT, and this story was inspired by the series Acquaint the Flesh on Ao3. **

**Trigger warning for sex, discussion of rape and the morality of marital rape. There will be a warning so it can be skipped. **

**Btw, this will be my first sex scene, so sorry if it's crap. I fully admit to borrowing from others for guidance.**

**Chapter Eleven**

**The Feast**

_**Winterfell: 31**__**st**__** August, 297 After Conquest**_

Pride and arrogance had demanded that Oberyn carry his bride the entire way from the clearing to the Great Hall, though he was no longer the young man he had once been. Still, he remained strong enough to lift Alyssa's slim form and carry her back to the keep.

In the Great Hall, which had been decorated minimally by Dornish standards and yet had apparently shocked the Northerners with its (to them) ostentatiousness, the guests were all waiting. Oberyn and Alyssa's entrance was greeted with a loud raucous of cheers that seemed loud enough to make the roof jump off the building. This was the first Mark-induced wedding in a century, longer still since the Starks had been blessed by the Gods, and the family's bannermen were as proud as if they had been the ones so blessed.

He placed his new wife down and offered her his arm, which she accepted with a polite smile. He regretted that business and Alys' own work on preparing for the wedding had meant they had not gotten a chance to know each other before the marriage. They had, excepting the stressful revelation outside of the kennels, gone for three walks together, all chaperoned by Alys' protective brother who'd made conversing with her extremely difficult. At this point, what he knew of his young bride could fill less than half a scroll.

The Starks and his own witnesses filed in after them, and everyone made their way to their various seats. As it was his and Alyssa's wedding feast, they sat together in places of honour while servants carried out platters of steaming stews that were the staples of the Winter Landers' diets.

No wonder they're so glum, Oberyn mused. Too cold to piss and no fruit or sweets available.

Loreza had been reaching out for her fork, but Alyssa gently stopped her.

"Wait, sweetling," she murmured. "Magnar Stark must first make a speech before we eat."

"Then he ought to hurry," Loreza insisted. "I am hungry!"

"Well, I can hardly refuse such a lovely lady's demand, now can I?" The grim Magnar smiled briefly and then stood, raising his glass. "Tis been many Winters since the last Marking, and e'en longer still since a Stark was honoured as such by the Old Gods," the man declared. "I have always known that the Gods blessed me with my children, and I cannot express my pride in knowing they have honoured my beloved daughter so. To Princess Alyssa and Prince Oberyn!"

"To Princess Alyssa and Prince Oberyn!" the Winter Land lords called back, everyone raising their goblets and then tossing back their drinks. Oberyn's own entourage joined them.

"_Now_, you may eat," Alyssa smiled at the girls. Oberyn felt a jolt of affection for her. He didn't know her personally, that was true. But from what he'd seen and his party had reported from their own interactions with her, she was a sweet, compassionate young woman. And she had taken to his girls with a kindness certainly not learned from her stepmother.

The girls all dug in, and Oberyn also ate, surprised to realize how hungry he was. A flick of his eyes towards Alyssa, however, showed that she was barely touching her own meal, and her smile was strained. He bit back a sigh. He was not found of terrifying ladies, and yet his own wife feared him, regardless of their link. He wasn't sure if it was the attempted rape that made her afraid or if it was his own reputation, but he didn't like any of it.

He suddenly found that he wasn't hungry anymore, and abandoned the heavy stew to take small sips from his goblet, hoping the celebrations would pass quickly.

* * *

Alys genuinely felt bad that she was feeling so depressed on her wedding day. It was hardly fair to everyone who had worked so hard to make the wedding a success, and her own glum mood was feeding through the link to her husband, dragging down his own mood as well. Despite her attempts to cheer up, however, the smile she had plastered across her face stayed fake, and her stomach continued to twist painfully whenever her thoughts drifted to what would occur after the feast.

She tried not to think of it, because it made her heart pound painfully against her ribcage, and her hands shook. She didn't drink much either, hating the strange fogginess that came with too much wine. It occurred to her later that only have some bread and watered wine the entire day probably didn't help her.

The food was finally removed, her young stepdaughters pouting over not being allowed more sweets and cake, and then her father accepted a package Jory passed to him.

"Time to present my wedding gift to you, my dear daughter," he smiled at her lovingly.

She fought not to cry at that, not even sure what emotions were making her eyes fill with tears. Perhaps it was just a combination of everything. Her wedding would've been an emotionally tumultuous affair anyway, even without everything else weighing on her.

He held out the package to her, and she pulled the brown paper off, letting out a surprised gasp. "Are these-?" she began to ask.

"Aye," he confirmed. "The personal journals of Magnara Visenya Targaryen, sister to Aegon the Conqueror and wife and Lady of Winterfell for Magnar Torrhen Stark. Not to mention co-Regent for her great-nephew King Jaehaerys I's early reign and her son Brandon's most trusted advisor. I hope, sweetling, that they will aid you. They are written in High Valyrian, but I know you are fluent in the language."

"Thank you, Father," she croaked, tearing her gaze away from the old journals. They all looked the same. They had leather covers, died black with a red dragon wrapped around a grey direwolf. She could faintly see the Old Tongue protection symbols that graced the covers of all Stark journals, ensuring only members of their bloodline could read them, and preventing them from being destroyed by fire, dust and other such things.

"We have a gift for our father and stepmother also, if we might present it," Sarella called, stepping forward with a smile and her two youngest siblings at her heels, Loreza dancing from foot to foot and Dorea beaming widely.

"Oh indeed?" Alys felt a surge of affection towards her new family at the girls' sweetness and her husband's seemingly-boundless love for them that she felt.

"Here, Papa!" Dorea exclaimed, handing over a package. He opened it, revealing a beautiful, Northern tapestry showing Winterfell.

"We thought it would remind you of your homeland when we return to Dorne," Sarella explained to Alys. "We bought it in the markets."

"Thank you, so very much," she replied, a hint of a shake in her voice. "That is very kind of you."

Loreza and Dorea clapped delightedly at her response, and the gifts continued to be presented. A sword sheath for her husband. Cloth, jewels, books and other things. After that, it was time for the dancing to start.

"As is tradition, the couple will now open the dancing," Magnar Stark announced.

Her husband looked down at her, offering her his hand. She kept her smile in place as she followed him onto the floor. It was difficult not to stiffen when he placed a hand against her waist, and she focused on the dancing rather than how close he was to her. Alys had never spent much time at dancing lessons.

When the septa and Lady Catelyn had still controlled their lessons, she hadn't attended any dancing or music lessons at all. Lady Adil had insisted on Alys learning, but her father had worried the exertion was too much for her (though he'd never been bothered by her hunting, and all of his daughters learned a certain amount of fighting skills to defend themselves, like most Northern women), and when she had asked to sit in on Robb's academic lessons instead, Magnar Stark had agreed.

The lyrics of the song barely registered in her mind, though she had chosen it precisely because it was one of her favourites to play on her rebec.

_High is the moon tonight_  
_Hiding its guiding light high_

_Heaven and earth do sleep_  
_Still in the dark so deep_  
_I will the darkness sweep_

Alys had seen her husband spar several times from her window, which overlooked the sparring yard. She understood why his skills were respected and feared throughout Westeros, for he turned fighting into a thing of beauty. He danced like he fought, and Alys could almost enjoy it, if not fully.

After she danced with him, she danced with her father, then Robb and Bran, then her Uncle Benjen, then her husband again, then a succession of different lords, including Uncle Howland, Lord Tormund Giantsbane of Hardhome, their piece of Land-Beyond-the-Wall. She also danced with Harrion Karstark, who kissed her cheek and told her that Torrhen wished her the best in her marriage and Task.

She was ready to collapse with exhaustion when her husband pulled her slightly aside. "I think it is time to retire, my lady," he informed her. "As I have no desire for a bedding ceremony, nor do you I believe, I suggest we leave discreetly before it is suggested."

Alys swallowed, her throat painfully dry, and nodded as she smoothed down the skirt of her dress. Her stomach twisted into tight, painful knots as she replied. "As you wish, my lord. I would say goodnight quickly to my family if you do not mind." At least, she tried to comfort herself, she hadn't had to deal with the humiliation of a bunch of men stripping her and carrying her naked to the bedchamber.

"Aye, and I'll send the girls to bed also," he agreed.

Arya and Bran had fallen asleep and been taken to bed by Lady Adil, but Sansa and Robb were dancing with each other when Alys signalled to them to come over to her.

"Is everything well, Alys?" Robb asked worriedly.

She forced herself to seem cheery for Sansa's sake as she nodded. "Yes, but my lord has suggested we retire. He wishes to avoid a bedding ceremony, and I find I agree with him."

Robb grimaced, no doubt traumatized by the thought of Alys being a part of that particular tradition and what was going to happen. Sansa, not knowing anything about the things done by husbands to their wives in the privacy of their bedchambers, beamed.

"Oh, sleep well!" she said earnestly, kissing Alys' cheek. "I shall come and see you in the morning?"

"Of course, sweetling," Alys promised, having no doubt that her expression was strained.

Her own 'experience' had not made her anticipate anything other than misery in the marriage bed. And Lady Adil and Rosael had been the ones to explain what happened to her properly. Both of them had told her it would hurt, but should be over quickly. It hadn't eased her fear.

She hugged her father and uncle tightly when she bid them good night, but as her husband was waiting, she didn't delay. She kept her expression neutral when he offered her his arm again and they left the still-lively hall in silence and headed for the guest keep where the Prince and his party were staying.

* * *

*****Trigger Warning for discussion of rape/marital rape. DO NOT read further if this upsets you*****

The first thing Oberyn did once they entered the chambers was pass Alys a goblet of wine. She was so pale and nervous, he was genuinely worried she would faint. Then he carefully sat himself on the windowseat, trying to make himself less threatening.

He got straight down to his point, wanting to ease the fear glinting in her violet-grey eyes. "Alyssa, I said that I am not going to force you into anything, and I meant it. We have no need to consummate the marriage tonight if you don't feel ready for it."

His new wife blinked, her fear turning into bemusement and a hint of concerned offence. "Have I offended you, my lord?" she asked carefully, brow crinkled.

"No," he answered simply, before explaining. "I am no rapist, Alyssa. You went through a traumatic experience, and I would not have my wife terrified of me. If I were to press for us to consummate our marriage, that is what would happen."

Alyssa frowned. "A husband cannot rape his wife," she protested, blatantly confused.

Oberyn grimaced, as this was a sore point for him. "Legally? No. But rape is when a man forces himself on an unconsenting woman. **(I know that men can be raped as well, but this is a medieval era, and men being raped is still a relatively new concept. Sorry)** Regardless of what the law says, Alyssa, you have every right to deny me access to your bed and body. In fact, if you don't desire to be bedded, then I want you to refuse me. I will not force myself on anybody. Ever."

*****End trigger warning*****

* * *

Alyssa went silent, brooding over his words. He'd noticed that habit of hers, as had his party. Alys rarely spoke without carefully considering her words and thoughts and the consequences of what she would say. It would serve her well when at court, both Sunspear and King's Landing.

She sat down on the bed, sipping at her cup as she contemplated his own words. He stayed silent, letting her mull over what he'd said. He was well aware of how radical his beliefs were, but he truly believed in them. And the thought of forcing himself on anyone, especially his delicate bride who had already been traumatized by a near-rape, made his skin crawl in disgust.

"I wish to consummate the marriage," Alys finally stated, putting aside her goblet and meeting his eyes properly for the first time since they'd met.

"Why?" Oberyn asked. He would only agree if she had genuine, good reasons. He would not bed her before she was ready.

Alys reached up to undo her hair as she explained, wanting to keep her hands busy. It was hard to figure out how to phrase her words, but she did her best. "I have several reasons," she stated slowly, frowning at the ground. "First of all." She paused, hesitating, then went on.

"The words of House Martell are Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken, yes? I feel that, if I let, the Incident, haunt me and keep me from being a proper wife, then I will be allowing them to break me. And direwolves are not beaten by squids and madmen." (_The dragons weren't either,_ the voice noted.) She ignored it pointedly, going on.

"In addition, I will be frank and say what you know already, milord. I did not want to be a wife. Certainly not to a man I do not know that lives half-a-world from my family.

But the Gods decided otherwise, and I am Stark, raised to fulfil my duty completely. If I must be your wife, Husband, then I would be your wife, not simply putting on a mummer's show.

Finally, the only reason I refused my father when he offered to let me remain unmarried after the Incident was because I wish more than anything to be a mother. While I adore Dorea and Loreza fiercely, I wish for a babe of my own blood. I am given to understand that getting with child is difficult when a husband does not lie with their wife."

Finished, she looked at him. He studied her for a moment, before putting his cup to the side and going over to sit beside her on the bed. She managed not to stiffen this time, even when he cupped her face and lowered his lips to hers.

She automatically opened her mouth when he pressed his tongue against her lips, and he quickly pushed it inside her mouth. He adjusted their positions to make the kiss more comfortable, and Alys found she actually enjoyed it.

It was far better to the way Theon had made her choke and gripped her jaw so hard the bruises hadn't faded for weeks, at any rate.

* * *

*****Sex warning*****

Oberyn pulled back from the kiss when he felt Alys begin to pant for breath, and brushed a lock of hair out of her face. Her pupils had been blown wide from the kiss and she panted slightly.

"If it becomes too much, tell me stop, I promise that I will," he instructed her firmly.

"Aye," she agreed softly. He checked on the link, debating if he should really go forward with it or not. She was determined but still nervous.

This was very different from any other woman he had bedded. Even Tyene's mother, a septa, had been experienced in sex.

Alys, on the other hand, was a maiden still, with only a single sexual experience, if it could be considered as such. He would have to be careful with her. She was doing this out of a variety of reasons, but at no time did she consider the possibility that she might enjoy it. He would have to change that opinion. He had no desire for her to dread him visiting her bed for the rest of their lives.

Satisfied that she was as prepared mentally as she would get, he reached around to unlace her stays. Her cheeks had a demure blush and she avoided his gaze as they silently helped each other undress and put aside their clothes. Once they were naked, Oberyn scanned his bride's form, appreciative. Whatever else, the Gods had gifted him with a beautiful bride.

Alys' long, dark curls fell over her shoulders and spilled down her back. Her figure was slim and perfectly proportioned, though her breasts were tiny enough to fit in his mouth. She had no freckles or spots, despite her age and the pinkness of her lips and the purple tint in her eyes stood out in contrast to her pale complexion.

He kissed her again, and was pleased when she responded more confidently this time, though she remained shy.

He pulled away after a minute to let them catch their breath, smirking arrogantly at Alys' dazed expression. Then he leaned down again to bite her collarbone lightly, making her gasp when he sucked on the spot.

"Come to bed, wife," he ordered her huskily.

She inclined her head obediently, pupils still blown wide from the kiss, and they went over to the bed, where Oberyn swiftly picked her up and laid her on the furs that covered the bed. She looked up at him nervously as he knelt above her, knees on either side of her slim form.

"You truly are beautiful," he told her, reaching down to pinch a nipple and make her gasp.

"Th, thank my lord," she stammered, chest rising and falling rapidly. He nearly purred, and had no doubt that his gaze was dark with lust. His period of celibacy since gaining his Mark had been longer than he'd ever gone without sex since he had first laid with a woman, and he was eager to resume the act.

"Touch me," he instructed her, though taking care not to sound harsh. "This will be far more enjoyable with both of us as active participants."

"Where do you want me to-?" she began to say nervously. He cut her off, smirking.

"Wherever. We will be doing this often for years, my darling little she-wolf. You might as well start exploring and figuring out how best to please me, while I do the same for you."

"I imagine you have enough experience to know what you enjoy most, my lord husband," Alyssa retorted, surprising him with the sudden break in her typically soft demeanour.

She had a strong spirit beneath her downcast violet-grey eyes. He looked forward to making her show it more often.

"Therefore I see no reason why you should not simply inform me of it. Surely 't would be preferable for us both?"

* * *

Her husband smirked at Alys' sally. "We'll have plenty of practice getting to know each other's preferences," he informed her. He was still looking at her with a dark, almost hungry gaze. She felt a bit like a doe, under the eyes of a hungry wolf. Ironic, given it was her family who had direwolves as their symbol and companions. A wolf-pup under the gaze of a poisonous snake, might've been a better way to phrase it.

He leaned down and kissed her passionately again, forcing his tongue past her lips and plundering her mouth. At the same time, he reached for her wrist and guided her hand to his firm abdomen, pressing it against the hard muscles. He pulled back from the kiss, leaving her panting, and grinned a tooth-filled grin down at her.

"Your husband desires you to explore his body, my lady wife," he purred.

"Well, I would not have it be said that I was a disobedient wife," Alyssa found herself replying without thinking, making him chuckle and kiss her quickly again before he turned his attention to her right breast, sucking on it and making her keen at the unfamiliar sensations.

Meanwhile, Alys carefully moved her hand down her husband's stomach, feeling the coarse hair that covered his chest and nethers. She froze when she reached his manhood, swallowing and biting her lip.

He pulled away from her left collarbone, where he had been sucking a mark to match the one on her right. She was surprised by the gentleness in his dark eyes as he looked down at her.

"Alyssa, I am not going to hurt you, nor allow you to be hurt," he promised her again, the third time he had made such a vow since they had met. "I want _both_ of us to enjoy this. Believe me when I say it truly is wonderful, when both participants take part. Just relax and follow your instincts."

"Yes, my lord," Alys replied, not knowing what else to do.

"When we are in private, call me Oberyn," he instructed her, dropping a quick kiss on her collarbone. "Being called 'my lord' or 'prince' in bed is not one of my tastes."

"Yes, m-uh, Oberyn," she stumbled, failing to understand what he had meant by the latter part.

He nodded, then again dove to capture her lips, while Alys carefully began touching his manhood. He groaned against her lips when she gently drew a finger up its length, unnerved by the large size of it. Part of her was sceptical that it would actually fit.

"More, darling, more," he moaned as she experimented warily. "Like that. That's very good."

"As you wish," Alys agreed.

She continued to stroke his length, using both of her hands and altering the pressure to figure out what made him seem most pleased. It was hard to concentrate, however, as he was also continuing to kiss and suck and touch the various parts of her body, making her mind foggy with strange sensations and her breathing uneven.

Oberyn was definitely pleased. Although was Alys was dreadfully inexperienced, she was as quick a study with this as with anything Delonne and Lady Myria taught her.

He could feel himself growing closer to his peak with each careful touch against his penis.

"Wait," he ordered hoarsely, making Alys freeze instantly and give him an uncertain, slightly dazed, look. "Lie down," he told her. It was her first time, so she ought to peak first, he reasoned to himself as he pressed his mouth against her cunt.

Alys gasped when Oberyn kissed her 'flower', as Rosael had called it when she explained to her what a moon's blood was and how babies were born when Alys was ten.

The sensation was strange, but fantastic, and Alys quickly found herself moaning and panting like a dog in heat. Her hips thrust instinctively towards him, searching for something, though she had no idea what.

"Please," she moaned, not sure what she was begging for, but desperate to get it. "Oh, my lord, please. Please."

"I told you to call me Oberyn," he replied mildly and smugly, pulling away from her. She whimpered in disappointment. "Call me by my name, and I'll give you what you need."

"Please, Oberyn!" she gasped. "Please, oh please!"

"Truly, my little wife," he purred. "You are proving to be a very pleasing bedmate. Yes, I'll give you your peak."

Alys had no idea if a 'peak' was what her body craved so desperately, but if it was and he fulfilled his promise, she would happily do whatever he desired in the bedroom, as often as possible. Just as long as he didn't leave her without what she so craved.

He put his mouth back on her, and worked his tongue with the ease and skill of an expert. Alys soon found herself reaching what must have been her 'peak'. She cried out in delight as white stars exploded in her vision.

She was almost limp after it, and she could see her husband's smug air as he straddled her waist again.

"I hope you have a bit of energy left, my little wolf," he drawled, as she gazed up at him through vision blurred by pleasure and exhaustion. "We're not done yet."

"As you say, Oberyn," she managed to croak out. He was pumping his own cock, but Alys reached out and took over, finding a rhythm that made him pant and moan and jerk his hips eagerly.

* * *

Oberyn helped her off the bed, after giving her a moment to regain her senses. He could feel his smugness at managing to make her break her mask and show her emotions rise in his breast as he kissed her again. Then he pulled away to meet her eyes again.

"I want you to kneel in front of me, and take my manhood into your mouth to suck," he informed her bluntly, and raggedly. Alyssa looked startled, but she obeyed, kneeling in front of him on the fur carpet while he braced himself against the bedframe.

Oberyn groaned as her delicate, pouty lips wrapped around his cock. He adored this particular activity fiercely, and he gripped her messy curls tightly. Her mouth was tiny enough that it was full before he was even half-way into her and her sucks were uncertain and careful. Despite that, Oberyn only had to thrust twice before he was cumming, and his new wife swallowed dutifully, though she choked slightly during his thrusts.

He pulled out of her and let her catch her breath as he helped her stand. "That was an excellent first attempt, my quiet little she-wolf," he drawled, pulling her close. A dribble of cum was on that corner of her rosebud lips, and Oberyn groaned in pleasure at the taste of himself on his wife's tongue. There was nothing quite like it. "We shall have to practice more, however," he muttered into her ear.

"As you wish, my lord husband," the young woman gasped. He scooped her up without warning, causing her to yelp, then laid her back down on the bed, kneeling over her waist and bending down to give more attention to her breasts again, making her moan. Alyssa, for her part, reached out to started palming his cock again, making him grunt approvingly at her actions.

When he felt his second orgasm approaching, Oberyn stopped his wife's hands and directed her to grip the headboard. Then he positioned himself at her entrance, one hand placed to guide himself home in her womanhood.

* * *

"Ready?" her husband asked her.

"Yes," Alys answered softly. Her hands clenched tightly at the wooden frame and her stomach twisted with renewed nerves.

Losing her maidenhood happened shockingly quickly for something that felt so important.

Oberyn slammed in quickly, causing her to cry out automatically, this time in pain. It wasn't _awful,_ but it did hurt. Alys gripped the frame as he pulled out slightly, then pumped in again, making her groan and pant as she tried to ignore the throbbing. He quickly got into his stride, slamming in and out of her. She was surprised when she felt him he work a finger in as well, massaging something inside her.

Then, abruptly, her peak hit a second time and she felt herself lose her grip on the bedframe as her limbs went limp. Her husband groaned and increased his pace, though this time Alys barely noticed the muscular pain deep inside her.

Then she felt a wetness spill into her, and found herself struggling for breath as Oberyn collapsed on top of her. He was heavy, and she was relieved when he rolled off of her, allowing her to breathe again.

*****Sex warning end*****

* * *

He lazily reached out to turn her face towards him, and she met his gaze tiredly.

"You're satisfied?"

"Aye," she mumbled. "Are you?"

He replied by kissing her again, this time a soft kiss that only lasted a few seconds before he pulled away from her. "More than," he drawled, before smirking. "Though, I recommend you rest now, my little she-wolf," he said to her. "We won't be doing this tomorrow, so that you can recover from losing your maidenhead, but I'm a lustful man, and seeing as you are my only outlet for that now, you should get used to it."

"I am pleased to do whatever you desire me to," she answered with uncharacteristic devilment, a small smirk playing at her swollen lips.

Oberyn grinned at the sass. If the gods had to bind him to anybody, this intelligent and beautiful young wolf-maiden, with her obedient and demure exterior that hid a fiercely protective and quick-witted attitude, was far better than he had hoped.

"Go to sleep," he ordered her. "In the morn, we will speak further."

"Aye," she agreed, a yawn escaping. Her eyes closed, and Oberyn pulled her against his chest as she fell asleep in his arms. For once, his touch didn't make her tense up.


	13. Oberyn 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF, or GoT. I received a request to make a list of my OC houses, and it is now in the Background Info for anyone who wants to check it out.**

**Chapter Twelve**

**Oberyn 3**

_**Winterfell: 1st **__**September 297 After Conquest**_

Oberyn woke up with his wife held to his chest and his nose buried in her tangled array of curls. Alyssa was still asleep, breathing lightly. He carefully pulled away, trying and succeeding in not waking her. She mumbled something inaudible and buried her face in the pillow with a sigh.

Oberyn slipped out of the bed and grabbed a pair of trousers from the dresser, pulling them on and stepping out of the bedchamber. He was surprised to find the redhaired young woman that was always following Alys slumped beside the door. There was an eagle resting on her shoulder, and she herself was sharpening a knife. He knew he'd heard her name, but he couldn't recall it.

She glanced at him indifferently, still sharpening her knife.

"My lady" he nodded at her, and she snorted contemptuously.

"I'm no damn lady. I'm a spearwife. Don't call me lady, don't hurt Alys emotionally or physically, and it'll all be fine. Otherwise I'll make you suffer."

"Noted," Oberyn replied dryly. Well, she was even blunter than most Northerners he'd met. "I don't suppose you know how I can organize for breakfast for my wife and myself?"

"Just cause she's married to you, doesn't mean her life is defined by it," the redhead grumbled, "So how 'bout calling her by her name, not 'my wife'." She then reached up to pat her eagle's beak. It fluttered its wings and flew off. "Arrow will alert the kitchens that they need to send something up," she announced.

That was when it clicked.

"You're a warg," he breathed in amazement and (although he would never admit it, for the sake of his pride) a touch of fear.

She snorted. "I take it that cleverness isn't part of the charm that gained you eight daughters from four women, then? Yes, I'm a warg. I entered the Warriors when I was five, and I was assigned as Alys' protector, like a sworn shield for you kneelers, when I was four-and-ten. She was not quite two-and-ten at the time."

Oberyn nodded slowly. "Are the stories about the Warg Warriors true?" he asked.

She shrugged. "According to Benjen XVII, all stories come from the truth," she replied vaguely. It wasn't really a yes or a no, but Winter Landers were notoriously secretive about their warriors (for good reason), so Oberyn hadn't really expected one.

Oberyn was about to say something else, but he felt a sense in the link that indicated Alys was waking up, and he wanted to speak with her more than he wanted to ask questions about the legendary Warg Warriors who were the best fighters in Westeros. He could do that later, seeing as she was coming along with them to Dorne. His wife probably knew things as well. Actually, now he considered it, he had heard rumours that the reason the Starks had tame direwolves was because they too were wargs. He ought to ask Alyssa if she was a warg, and if that trait would be passed down to their future babes.

"If you would excuse me, it seems that Alyssa is waking up," he inclined his head politely to her. "By the way," he paused as he rested his hand on the doorknob.

She glanced at him, looking bored and continuing to sharpen her already razor-sharp knife. "What?"

"What's your name, if I may ask?" he inquired.

"Ygritte of the Free Folk," she answered with a shrug. "Warg Guard to Alyssa Stark."

"Alyssa Martell now," he corrected.

Ygritte dismissed that with a wave of the hand. "What are names but words on the wind? House Stark has lived and reigned since the Long Night. She may have married into your House, kneeler, but she is still whom she was yesterday, before you wrapped your cloak around her. The Gods did not choose Princess Alyssa Martell to be their instrument on this earth, they chose Alyssa Snow of House Stark. No matter what, she will always be Alys to me, and I will stay at her side until the day the Old Gods call me to their halls."

She didn't say anything else, leaving Oberyn more bemused by the short conversation than he wanted to admit, even to himself. He felt as if she'd told him something beneath the blunt speech. But he didn't know what the message had been.

Alyssa was sitting up in the bed when he re-entered their shared guest chambers. She coloured and looked down when she saw him, shifting the sheets to cover her naked form.

Oberyn was felt an odd mixture of fondness and amusement at the motion. He had seen her bare body the night prior, and would again (soon, hopefully. He dearly desired to continue educating his beautiful young bride in the art of lovemaking, replacing her memories of Greyjoy and the Bolton Bastard with pleasant ones.), yet still she was shy around him. Her fear had lessened considerably, at least. Oberyn counted that as a victory.

"Good morning, Wife," he greeted her lightly, heading over to the side table to pour himself a goblet of wine from the jug left there the night before. "Did you sleep well?"

"Aye, milord," she murmured in her musical voice, her flush fading. He suspected she was an excellent singer, and made a mental note to ask if she dabbled in music at all. "I slept fine, thank you. And yourself?"

"I slept wonderfully," he replied cheerfully, smirking slightly as his gaze drifted from her face to the top of her breasts, not quite hidden by the bedclothes. "I stepped outside and asked for breakfast to be sent up. I also had a short conversation with your guard. I am mildly concerned that she might decide to aid your brother in mutilating me should they suspect you are unhappy."

Alys' flush returned at that, making Oberyn feel hot. He certainly couldn't bed her right then. Not when she had only just lost her maidenhead and was still in pain from it. But she really _was_ beautiful, and the colour of her blush was a pretty one, as if pink rose petals were draped across her high cheekbones.

"They wouldn't actually do such a thing," Alyssa claimed, though he could feel her doubt at her own words. "It's just-my family is protective, and they worry. The Marking came as a great shock to us all."

Oberyn sobered at that, setting down his cup and sitting on the window seat. "Aye, twas a surprise for me as well," he agreed.

He studied her thoughtfully for a moment, then passed her the Martell wedding cloak. "Come and sit with me," he urged her, trying not to make it seem like he was ordering her. "I would know speak first of our Marks, and then learn more of my new bride. We have not had much chance to converse with one another, regrettably."

"Yes, my lord," she murmured, accepting the cloak and wrapping it around herself before she left the bed and went to sit down on an armchair in front of the fireplace, across from Oberyn. She winced as she sat, and Oberyn blinked slightly as he suddenly realized that he was, in contrast to expectations, feeling her pain. Just not intensely. Like an echo of pain, more than anything else.

"Interesting," he mused to himself, not realizing he'd spoken aloud until Alyssa asked tentatively what was interesting?

"I was under the impression that I would not feel your pain, yet it seems that is an error," he explained to her. "I didn't realize it before. I don't believe I'm feeling the whole impact, but I can definitely sense it through our link."

"Very little is known about soulbonds," Alyssa replied reasonably. "And much is speculation. Hopefully, reading my distant grandmother's journals will help to guide us."

"Yes, that was a valuable gift," Oberyn agreed. "Your father was very generous with both his wedding gift and your dowry. Though I gather it was your mother's inheritance."

Alyssa had stiffened, her expression going blank and guarded the moment he mentioned her mother. And when he checked the link he noticed a mixture of tangled emotions: grief, anger, love, longing and, strangely, fear. What about her mother caused her fear?

He had originally thought to ask whom her mother was, as he was as curious as anyone else about the mysterious woman who had caused the Stalking Wolf to abandon his vaunted honour and break his wedding vows. Though with the knowledge he had gained over his trip to Winterfell, Oberyn had come to realize that very few Northerners considered Lady Catelyn to be their Magnar's wife. Perhaps Eddard Stark didn't consider her his true wife either, as they had never wed before a heart tree.

The lady herself had been sent off in a cart with a small escort of Ice Guards to bring her to Riverrun. She had apparently asked to use the wheelhouse, but Winterfell had only the one and it was reserved for Oberyn's party's return to White Harbour and their ship. According to Sarella, who had been returning from a visit to the Great Library at the time, the citizens of WinterCity had correctly realized Lady Catelyn was being sent away and cheered. Some of them had apparently called for her to go and join her beloved Seven, as they had no use for burners in the North.

Given Alyssa's distress at the mere mention of her mother, Oberyn decided not to bring her up. When she trusted him, maybe. He spoke about something else, instead.

He held out his arm, showing off the weirwood bracelet wrapped tightly around his wrist. It was too tight to be removed, and had no clasp. "I was not expecting this," he informed Alyssa.

She reached up to tuck a curl behind her ear, nodding. "I realized that during the ceremony. I apologize for the oversight, milord. I assumed you knew already, and I expect my family thought the same as well."

"I said to call me Oberyn in private," he reminded her. Her cheeks tinted again, making his lips quirk. It was very cute. Though, she would have to master it, as blushing easily would cause her problems when she got involved in court politics, as was inevitable. He let it be for the moment, however, focusing on the conversation.

"I knew that Winter Lander married couples wore carved bracelets made from weirwood bark to symbolize their wedded states," he confirmed. "But I was certainly not expecting to have the root come alive and carve itself. I take it that it cannot be removed?"

Alyssa looked startled, as if she had never considered such a thing. "No, my lo, Oberyn," she corrected her slip up. "But the day one of us dies, it will snap in half, signalling that we are no longer bound to one another. Only death can do so. Even if you were to lose a hand in battle, the bracelet would stay attached, so long as I live. Tis a symbol that the Gods approve of and bless our marriage."

Oberyn raised his eyebrows at that, then examined the bracelet. It wasn't bad, he had to admit. Though there was something odd about the direwolf. He couldn't figure it out, and decided that it probably didn't matter. Maybe it was just the way it had been carved. "Fascinating," he stated. "You are certain that even losing a hand does not remove it?"

She nodded firmly. "Aye. Lord Icestark lost his hand in the Rebellion, but his Bracelet remains on his wrist."

"What happens if a weirwood bracelet doesn't form during the ceremony?" Oberyn inquired.

Alyssa shrugged. "Then the wedding is called off," she replied simply. "But such a thing rarely occurs. In general, the greenseers will be consulted before any marriage arrangements are made for a couple. They usually See whether the Gods will approve or not. If they do, the wedding goes ahead. If not, it doesn't.

They are a reminder of the vows taken, also," she continued, growing more confident in herself as she explained. "Rarely do First Men have affairs, as their Marriage Bracelets remind them that they took oaths of fidelity before the Old Gods, and should they break their words, punishment will be put upon they and their houses too, often enough. There are many tales of what happens to those who break the word they gave before the Old Gods."

Oberyn might've thought that was a hint not to lay with other women, but not only was it impossible for him to do so now, but he could also sense that Alyssa was simply explaining the facts.

"Well, it looks well enough," he finally said, when he realized she had finished speaking and was looking expectantly towards him. "Now, about our Marks. To the Seven, they are a reward to highborn couples for being pious. I haven't been in a sept in several years, and you yourself are not a follower of the Seven at all, so I have my doubts of that. The Rhoynar claim that the Marks are a way to guide people to those who mattered most to them in a past life-"

"Past life?" Alyssa interrupted, crinkling her brow. "What do you-Oh yes, I remember now. The Rhoynar believe that someone is reborn as a different person a thousand times, until they have experienced all aspects of life. Only then will they pass on to the Heavens or Hells. Am I correct?"

"Aye," Oberyn agreed. "You are. But I confess, I am much interested in the beliefs of the First Men. One of the Ice Guards who took us to Winterfell said that it was a sign we had been entrusted with some sacred mission by the Old Gods. Is this true?"

Alys grimaced, embarrassed apparently. "It seems very arrogant, when we bear Marks, to say so. But yes, that is the belief of my religion. If you want to ask what that mission is supposed to be, however, I cannot help you. It could be military-related, as that is frequent, but it could also just as easily be that our future child is the one the Gods need, and we have been brought together to ensure their existence. There's no way to know until it's occurred."

"I see," Oberyn hummed. He wanted to press for more information, but she was uncomfortable and he was trying to gain her trust. Evidently, it was not going to be a simple task. He changed the subject again, to something light. He hoped.

"Tell me of yourself, Wife. I would know more of you, as I said."

She bit her bottom lip, looking uncertain. "What do you wish to know, m-Oberyn?" She caught the slip quicker this time.

"What do you enjoy to do?" Oberyn asked first.

"I enjoy reading a great deal," Alyssa began, looking nervous again. "I was ill often as a child, and spent many hours in bed. When my siblings were at lessons and unable to visit with me, I would read. I have never stopped."

"Well, that is always a pleasure to hear," Oberyn declared lightly, making a note of her mention of illnesses. He would speak to Scholar Luwin, the University graduate who served in the same capacity as a maester for Winterfell, and ask about her medical history. Elia's frail health still lingered in his mind, making him worry whenever someone he cared for was ill. "I myself am a voracious reader. We shall have to compare books, and see if we have similar tastes in literature. What things do you enjoy reading?"

"I prefer history books, in truth," Alyssa admitted. "Or myths and legends. I am afraid that I have little patience for those novels Sansa enjoys in which the heroes are all perfect and beautiful whilst the villains ugly and obvious. I like to read about more realistic things."

Oberyn grinned outright at that, pleased to know that his bride wasn't some empty-headed chit. "Ah, yes, I understand," he agreed. "I don't suppose you know how to fight? If not, I must insist you learn. I would not have you defenceless."

"I am never defenceless," she denied. "Ygritte is always there, and so too is Ghost. Already she is able to rip a man's throat out with ease, should I tell her to. But yes, I am able to fight. All Northern women learn some level of defence, as our kingdom is a harsh one. One must be a fighter to survive the Winter. I am capable with a bow and knife, and have reasonable skill with a sword. I also adore riding. My father often claims I was all but born on a horse. I am the faster rider in the North, and have won the Solstice Festival races thrice in a row."

She was proud of that accomplishment, Oberyn could sense it as well as hear it. Her eyes sparkled entrancingly when she mentioned riding, and she smiled automatically at the thought of it. Clearly, riding was important to her. He would have to see about getting her a horse, Ulwyk would surely be pleased to provide one of his family's famous sand steeds for Dorne's new princess.

"Wonderful," Oberyn replied sincerely. "What else do you like to do?"

Her reply was interrupted by the arrival of a maid, ladened with a tray of hot porridge and some tea. Oberyn was surprised when Alys stood and went over to help the girl, greeting her by name and inquiring as to whether or not the herbs had worked to cure the girl's brother of her cough. Aime the serving girl smiled warmly at her in response, greeting her as 'Magnara Alys' and saying it had, before thanking her for getting them, which Alyssa had dismissed casually.

Oberyn looked thoughtfully at his young wife after that. He could tell that she had not been just acting polite. She genuinely cared about the girl and her brother. Most highborn ladies wouldn't even think of asking a servant's name. They certainly wouldn't know their family matters, or bother getting medicine for a sick child. He couldn't even remember Elia or Ellaria doing such a thing, and he had always considered them to be shining examples of compassion.

The guard had said to Loreza and Dorea that Alyssa helped teach reading and writing to the children of Wintercity. Low born children, and she took the time out of her day to teach them skills the south considered a skill solely for nobility, and not even all of them bothered to learn, preferring instead to rely on their maesters.

"I have never met someone so compassionate towards their inferiors as you," he stated after Aime had left. "Did you truly get the girl's brother medicine?"

Alyssa pursed her lips, determination and conviction shining through both her eyes and the bond as she met his gaze properly.

"I realize that the Seven teach that nobles are born with their status and riches as a reward and the smallfolk without as a punishment, but the Old Gods do not," she announced, chin lifted defiantly. "_I _was taught that I was born to my family because the Old Gods trusted me to make good use of what I have to protect and aid those who don't share my advantages.

Even as a bastard, I am aware of how well I have always had it. Lady Catelyn aside, the North is kinder to bastards than most of the South, though not so kind as I have heard it is in Dorne. The Starks do not_ rule _our smallfolk, Your Highness. We are entrusted with_ guiding_ and_ protecting_ them by the Gods, and that is what I do. I will do the same when we are in Dorne, also."

Oberyn felt his lips curl upwards, a feeling of deep fondness for his young new wife flaring in his chest. He still missed Ellaria, and always would. Alyssa was not whom he would have chosen.

But he could understand how he had loved her in his previous life. He expected that he would soon love her again in this one.


	14. Arya 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT. Thank you to everyone reviewing, faving, kudosing, etc. This story! Read, enjoy and review!**

**Chapter Thirteen**

**Arya One**

_**Winterfell: 1st **__**September 297 After Conquest**_

Arya had been infuriated when she'd learned that Alys had been Marked. Her anger had only grown when she learned that Alys was to marry a _Southron_, and a _burner_ to cap it all off. It was an outrage, and Arya had thrown a dozen tantrums, pleading with Alys to run away with her and their wolves, or for Father to do something to prevent the wedding.

Both of them had refused her. Alys had stated repeatedly that she had a duty, and she would not shame her family by abandoning it. Father sighed sorrowfully and said that the Gods had chosen Alys for a sacred task, and it was not for mortals to intervene in holy matters.

It didn't surprise Arya that her eldest sister had been hand-picked by the Old Gods to fulfil their will. Alys was sweet and kind, and she was clever and talented, as well as brave and determined. Alys flourished at everything she did. (save for speaking to people, but that was alright. She was an excellent listener, and she always knew what to say when she did speak.) So yes, it made sense that, if the Gods needed a person to fulfil their will, that they would choose Alys.

But it _wasn't_ fair that Alys had to leave, and go so far away. She had been putting on a brave face, but Arya had seen the fear in her older sister's eyes whenever the topic of the Red Viper came up. Arya had thus resolved to loathe her goodbrother with all her heart. Alys didn't need somebody to help her do whatever it was the gods wanted her to do. She was strong and intelligent enough to do it alone. If Oberyn Martell thought he could just prance into Winterfell and steal Arya's best friend, he had another thing coming.

It had been disappointing to realize that she actually_ liked _the man. He made funny jokes, and was polite. He was still taking Alys away though, so Arya had stubbornly tried to cling to her anger.

That had changed when he'd said that he would take Arya away to Dorne as well. Arya hadn't known about the agreement until after her mother had been sent away. Apparently, learning that Arya was to leave and go to Dorne, a place her mother considered even more savage than the North, had been the last straw for Catelyn.

_Arya hacked at the training dummy viciously, while Val watched over her silently. Val knew it was better to let Arya brood and take her anger and hurt out on the dummy, so she didn't interrupt._

_Alys would usually be there to soothe her whenever she was upset, but right now Alys was in the Lady's Lounge, sewing her trousseau. Arya knew she was terrible at sewing, and she didn't want to upset Alys more than she was already by ruining one of her new dresses, so she hadn't joined the ladies sewing, even if she wanted to stay close to her sister. She'd noticed at breakfast how Alys' eyes were red-rimmed, and Father and Uncle Benjen were casting her concerned looks, and it had filled her with fury._

_It was all Mother's fault. Alys was embarrassed and had been shamed in front of the Dornish. As had Father and House Stark. All for what?_

_Because Mother believes in the Seven, and the Seven claim that bastards are evil and born jealous of their trueborn half-siblings? How could she genuinely believe such of__** Alys **__of all people? Alys who had always had time and patience in abundance for her disobedient baby sister. Alys who had rocked and sung Arya to sleep after night terrors of wights visited, or cleaned and kissed Arya's knees when she fell and scraped them. Alys who loved Robb like he was her other half, and spent hours working patiently with Sansa on improving her drawing ability, one of the few places where Sansa didn't succeed at being a 'proper' lady. Alys who was the only one able to soothe Bran when he had a particularly upsetting vision. Alys who was Father's favourite. (Alys herself was the only one who didn't realize it, but neither Arya nor her full siblings cared that Father was more protective and spent more time with Alys. He loved them all the same, but Alys was special. She was special to them as well. Mayhaps that was part of the reason Mother resented her so much.)_

_Arya had always known her mother resented, even hated, Alys. But Mother didn't just __**hate**__ Alys. Mother wanted Alys to __**die.**__ She wanted Alys' future babes to die as well. How could she?_

"_Well, Magnara Arya," a light voice said from behind her. "I think that your enemy has been soundly defeated. Mayhaps you will allow the poor fellow to die in dignity with the remainder of his corpse in tact?"_

_Arya scowled, her mood worsening. It was him. The snake stealing Alys from her family. Arya turned and glared at him. Nymeria, who had been pacing and growling agitatedly, came over to her for a pet. The direwolf eyed Prince Oberyn crossly, but didn't try to attack him. That was disappointing, for if she had, Arya would've been more justified in her hate. But the wolves had betrayed their family, and actually __**liked **__the man._

_Val stayed quiet, but Arya knew that her Warg Guard was watching carefully for any threatening actions from either Prince Oberyn or one of his companions. One was the Bastard of Godsgrace, Ser Daemon Sand, the other was the one-eyed Ser Arron Qorgyle. Arya recalled that the snake prince was a 'ser' too._

_The Winter Lands didn't have knights. Bran had been interested in the stories of them and even gone through a phase of wanting to be one for a short while. Sansa had adored the tales Mother told her of gallant and handsome knights sweeping young ladies off their feet and rescuing them from whatever. She had wanted to marry one._

_That had ended quickly when their father, solemn-faced, had sat them down and explained that knights were a nice thought, but not a realistic one. He had given examples of knights who broke their vows in Gods knew how many different ways: Jaime Lannister, who killed the king he was sworn to protect, sitting on the Iron Throne with Aerys' body at his feet while the rest of the royal family were brutally slaughtered. Gregor Clegane, who had violated his vow to protect women and children by killing Princess Elia and her children. Ser Lucamore Strong, one of Jaehaerys I's Kingsguard who had broken his oaths by marrying three different women and having sixteen children between them._

_Those were only a few of his examples. The message was clear. Just because someone is supposed to do something, doesn't mean they will. Never trust a knight, solely because they were a knight. A title doesn't make you a good person._

_Before that conversation, Sansa had driven Arya to distraction with her stupid love of songs and belief in gallant princes and knights. The reminder that Aerys had been king, yet a sadistic murdering madman, and that Rhaegar had been hailed as a great prince yet plunged the realm into war by kidnapping Aunt Lyanna, had put a stop to those foolish beliefs._

_Arya and Sansa got along much better now, but they still needed Alys to mediate between them a lot. Without her, they would probably kill each other. The thought made Arya's bottom lip wobble, and she glowered angrily at the prince taking away the best person in the world._

"_Go away!" she snapped at him. "I don't like you! Leave me alone!" Leave Alys alone, she added in her mind. Only Alys' plea for civility kept her from saying it aloud, and she hadn't been able to stop herself snapping at him at all. Her sister would be so disappointed when she found out._

"_That's certainly going to be difficult when you are my ward," the man answered mildly. "I suppose we shall have to leave you in the North, after all. A great shame, I'm sure Magnara Alyssa will be disappointed that you will not be coming with us. Mayhaps we can bring Magnara Sansa instead?"_

_Arya stared at him in surprised confusion. "What?"_

_He smiled gently at her. "Yesterday, while finalizing mine and Magnara Alyssa's marriage contract, your father and I decided that you would become your sister and I's ward for the next several years. When we leave the North, it was expected that you would come with us. However, if you loathe me so, I suppose that cannot happen any longer."_

"_Why?" Arya demanded suspiciously. "And can Val, Nymeria and Whitefang come too?"_

"_Of course, they would come," the Viper agreed. "As for why, I can clearly see how dearly my bride cares for her siblings. Of you all, I believe you would fit Dorne best. Women there have a freedom that other kingdoms do not give them. Your father agrees with me. Will you come?"_

_Arya glanced at her protector, who inclined her head, silently indicating that she would follow Arya in whichever path she chose. Not that there was much choice to make. She could stay with Alys. The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. With the two of them together, Alys would be safe. _

"_Aye," Arya nodded. "I will come to Dorne. But if you hurt my sister, I'll knock your block off."_

_She'd heard Greatjon say that once, but she didn't understand what it meant. Whatever it did made the viper's eyebrows shoot up even as he and his entourage began chuckling. Val doubled over in laughter, wiping away tears._

"_My daughters will steal you away," he declared. "I fear for Dorne, trying to cope with a she-wolf like you."_

_They ought to fear Alys, not me, Arya thought in reply as she shrugged indifferently. Blizzards are dangerous, but they passed quickly. Ice looks pretty and delicate, but it's even more lethal than a snow storm. And Alys is like Father. Her temper simmers and she always gets justice for an insult._

_Arya still didn't know the details of the Incident, but she would never forget watching her sister, bruised with shaking arms, accepting Ice from their father and chopping off Ramsay Snow's head for attacking her. Theon Greyjoy had left that same day, a vicious scar across his face._

_Yes, everyone tended to overlook Alys, dismissing her as sweet and too delicate to harm anyone. But Arya knew better. The Gods hadn't chosen her sister as one of their champions because she was pretty. They'd chosen her because she was a wolf._

They gathered in the privacy of the Vault, the day after Alys' wedding. Of course, their guards didn't come. Not even their loyal protectors were permitted to step foot in the sacred tomb of the Stark family. Alys herself was the last to arrive, and she had a slight limp that worried Arya immediately. It clearly worried Robb as well.

"Did he hurt you?" their eldest brother demanded protectively. "I'll make him pay for it, Alys! I swear!"

"Robb-" Alys sighed, but he cut her off.

"No, I've it all figured out Lyssie! We'll knock you out with some dreamwine or something else Scholar Luwin has in his stores. Then we can have our guards hold him down while-"

"Yes, I've heard your plan," Alys interrupted with a sigh. "But he didn't hurt me, it was fine. Unless you actually want to traumatize us all with me recounting my wedding night, then I suggest you leave it be."

Robb went pale with horror at the thought, and hastily cleared his throat. "Alright, yes, uhm, you wanted to talk to us about something?"

Alys looked at the floor, pain flashing over her features. "I have to tell you all something very important, but first you have to make a promise to me," she said softly. "Do_ not _reveal this. Not to _anybody_. _Ever_. We could all lose our heads if someone outside the family learns of this."

Arya swallowed, nervous. When she looked at her siblings, Robb looked alarmed and Sansa's eyes had gone wide. Bran looked thoughtful.

"I won't say a word," Robb promised first. Arya and Sansa echoed him, and Bran was the last. He continued to speak afterwards.

"I had a greendream. Is this about the futures where you're the Queen of Westeros?"

The others, save Alys, all gasped in shock. Alys bit her lip, seemingly steeling herself.

"I pray to the Old Gods those futures don't come true, Bran," she stated after a minute. "Because I don't want the Iron Throne. Not for myself, and not for my descendants. I don't want a war either, though I fear tis inevitable. But yes. Father only told me a few days ago. But as it turns out, the reason he would never reveal my mother's name was that he knew we'd all be executed if he did. You see, I am not the blood daughter of Eddard Stark. I am actually Alysanne of House Targaryen. Rhaegar Targaryen was my sire, and Lyanna Stark my mother."

Alys didn't look at them when she made her revelation. She stared fixedly at the wall, covered in ancient armour and scrolls instead. Arya could see how bright Alys' eyes were, though, and hear the unevenness of her voice. She knew that Alys feared this would change how they felt about her.

Did it? Arya mulled it over in her mind for a few moments of silence as Alys gripped her navy skirts in white knuckles while the news sank in for the rest of them. Did the knowledge actually change anything, other than letting them know who Alys' mother was?

No, Arya finally concluded. So Alys wasn't their sister by blood. She was still _Alys._ Still the girl who'd been ever-so-patient with her wild younger sister, sitting with Arya for hours and helping her with improving her sewing. Turning embroidery into a game or singing silly songs to pass the time. She was still the one who had comforted Arya a thousand different times, who'd handed Nymeria to her. That Aunt Lyanna was her mother didn't change the fact that Alys had earned herself the strip from Mother the Gods only knew how many times when she covered for Arya's misdeeds. Alys was still her favourite sibling, and nothing would ever change that.

"I don't care!" they all must have decided it in unison, for their voices came out in a chorus.

"You're still you, Lyssie," Robb declared, addressing her with the nickname he'd given her in the nursery that only he used. His tone dared anybody to defy his decree. "Nothing will change that. And if you ever decide that you want the Iron Throne, the North will fight for your rights, and your children's."

"In your place, I would claim the throne," Sansa added, hugging Alys. "But I know that you do not want it, and that is your right too. I love you Alys. Nothing will change that, I swear."

"You're you, and if you thought I'd ever not love you as my sister, you're stupider than stupid Silvia Mormont with her pink dresses," Arya declared to Alys when she looked at her. Alys let out a watery laugh and hugged her too.

Then it was Brandon's turn. He smiled at Alys, reaching out to hold her hand. "I think you will be queen one day," he stated. "And your reign will go down in history as Westeros' Golden Age. But no matter what. Even if it doesn't, and you stay as Princess Alyssa of Dorne instead of Queen Alysanne I of the Seven Kingdoms, I will still love you as the dearest sister I could ask for."

"I could not have been blessed with more loving siblings," Alys announced, tears falling freely.

"You're silly," Arya sniffed. "We're pack, and pack doesn't abandon each other. Ever."

"You're right, Arya," Robb agreed. "Remember, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives. We ought to swear an oath, to always come to each other's aid, no matter what. And, if needed, to avenge each other, too."

"That's a good idea," Sansa (surprisingly to Arya) was the first of them to agree.

So they did.

None of them knew, not even Bran, that several more futures that had troubled the greenseers and Magnar Stark, disappeared when they made that decision. No longer would the greenseers See Sansa Stark held captive in King's Landing, beaten for every victory her rebelling brother achieved. No longer would young Bran be pushed from a window, crippling him. Robb Stark would not be killed while partaking in guest right at the Twins and one particularly painful future in which a grief and guilt stricken Alys took her own life after the grief of losing her last sibling when Sansa disappeared also faded away, though the possibility of their premature deaths still remained.

When Howland told Ned this, the Alpha of the North had no idea what action erased those futures. Still, he went to the godswood, fell to his knees, and wept his thanks before the Old Gods.

But the Stark siblings knew nothing of this. They only knew that it felt right to cut their palms with an ancient knife, unrusted and covered in runes. It felt right to press their bloody hands against the others, and say the ancient words.

"My life is your life, my sword is your sword. Siblings, now and forever. Should one of us fall, the others will see them avenged. Should one of us need aid, the others will die in their defence. This we swear, by earth and water, by bronze and iron, by ice and fire. So mote it said, so mote it be."


	15. Alyssa 4

**Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT. The song 'Winter Moon' is by Erutan. Thanks to everyone complimenting, faving, kudosing, etc, this story. It really brightens my day to see how much these are enjoyed. This and chapter 15 have small timeskips, as I'm keen to get to KL and get into the plot. (The North will still play an important part of the story though, don't worry) Read, enjoy and review!**

**Chapter Fourteen**

**Alyssa Four**

_**Winterfell: 7th September 297 After Conquest**_

Tears made Alys' vision blur as she stood in the courtyard of Winterfell, preparing to leave her home, possibly for the last time in her entire life.

The wheelhouse was at the gates. It was loaded with their trunks, all of the Dornish women, Rosael and Maege Seastark, who had been clambering around ship rigging since she could walk, but couldn't stay on a horse if her life depended on it. Serena, Wynafryd, Gella and Lyra had all said their goodbyes to their own families already, and were seated on their horses. In fact, everyone in their party, save for Alys, her husband and sister, as well as Ygritte and Val, were mounted and ready to go. They were merely waiting for Alys and Arya to say goodbye.

Alys took a shuddering breath in, hating this moment fiercely. She could feel her bondmate was eager to get a move on, though he was remaining quiet, allowing her the time to say goodbye.

She started with Bran while Arya went to hug Robb. Her dreamy younger brother was holding back tears and his bottom lip trembled. She didn't say anything, simply opening her arms and letting him throw himself at her, burying his face in her collarbone.

"Shh, shh, sweetling," she cooed gently into his ear, rocking him and stroking his back as she fought her own tears. "I'll write so often, you'll forget I'm not really there, and I'll send pictures for Sansa and you too. Besides, you'll be so busy with Jojen and Meera at Greywater Watch that you'll forget all about missing me. I love you sweetling. So very much."

"Love you too," he mumbled. "I won't forget to miss you. But I See that you'll be happy. And this won't be the last time we meet, I know it."

"Well, if you have Seen it, how could I ever doubt you?" Alys smiled back through her blurred vision.

They clung to each other for a few moments longer, before pulling away reluctantly. His miserable expression broke her heart, and it only worsened when she turned to her redhaired sister and saw Sansa's blue eyes were also glistening with tears.

"Sansa," she sighed, embracing her sister. She pressed a kiss to Sansa's cheek, receiving her own. "I love you so much, sweetling," she told her gently.

"I love you too," Sansa sniffed. "Write me lots, won't you? I want to know everything. And send me drawings too, so I can see what everything looks like."

"I'll send you paintings, not just drawings and letters," Alys promised. Oberyn had told her that they made a lot of different paints in Dorne, and promised to have a room set aside for her to use as for her artwork.

After she let go of Sansa, she turned to Robb, her heart aching. She had been with him for so long, the thought of them being separated made her feel as if she had been stabbed in the heart.

"Ro," she sniffed, using the infant nickname she'd given him when she'd had too few teeth to speak properly.

"Lyssie," his own voice broke on the name he'd called her when they were babies. A second later they were clinging tightly to one another, her face buried in his neck. She inhaled the scent of her beloved brother, hay, pine needles and furs. They didn't say anything else, for they knew each other too well to require it.

Finally, she pulled away from him, and turned to her father. In the back of her mind, she was thankful that Uncle Benjen and Aunt Dacey had left with their children the day before to return to Moat Cailin. It would've been too much to say goodbye to them too.

Father had just let go of Arya, who ran over to hug Bran and say goodbye to him, when Alys flung herself into his embrace. She gripped tightly to his surcoat, feeling as if she were a five-year-old who'd just come to his bed after a nightmare again.

"I love you Papa," she whispered to him, imprinting the smell of furs, ink and steel that was her father in her memory.

"I love you too, sweetling," he replied huskily. "So very much. Always remember, no matter what name you bear, you are _my_ daughter, a she-wolf of Winterfell. Our family has lasted a thousand years, and we have done so because we stick together throughout the good times and the bad."

"The lone wolf dies but the pack survives," Alys murmured the familiar phrase. He nodded.

"Aye. If ever you need me, sweetling, I will _always_ come. You and your siblings are my world. There is nothing I would not do for you. Nothing. I love you all more than life itself."

"I know that, Father. I love you too."

She clung to him a while longer, revelling in the feeling of safety that came from her father's familiar embrace. Any shreds of anger and hurt that she had continued to cling to since he revealed his lies to her faded away._ Eddard Stark _was her father, not Rhaegar Targaryen. He always would be.

Finally, she pulled away from him with great reluctance, and headed for her mount. Oberyn offered to help her up, but she waved him off, climbing on easily and adjusting her split riding skirts once she was seated on the horse. She was a bit sore still from lovemaking with her husband (which they had now done several times), but it faded with relative quickness.

"Lady Ygritte," Ser Ulwyk called to Ygritte, who had taken up her position beside Alys' horse. "Where is your horse? Or will you ride in the wheelhouse?"

Ygritte shot the knight an irritated look. Alys felt a surge of amusement from both herself and Oberyn. The Uller heir had apparently taken a liking to Ygritte, who was exceptionally irritated by his attempts at wooing her.

It was quite amusing to watch, actually.

"I'm walking," Ygritte replied flatly. "As is Val. The Free Folk do not ride, and we are Warg Warriors. For training, we used to run five miles a day through the snow without rest. If we stumbled or paused, we had to restart."

That wasn't _quite_ true, Alys knew. In fact, the Warg Warriors actually ran_ ten _miles per day through the snow, while carrying sacks of flour over their shoulders to increase their strength and stamina.

Ser Ulwyk apparently considered this a challenge, because he promptly dismounted and announced that he would walk with them.

"Don't be foolish, Ulwyk," Oberyn sighed exasperatedly, looking amused.

"Lady Ygritte has told me that I must prove my strength if I wish to win her esteem!" the man declared. "So this I shall do!"

"It's you that'll suffer," Ygritte scoffed. "And I'm not a damn lady! Are we moving or not?"

"We're moving," Alys' husband confirmed, kicking his horse into movement. The rest of the group followed. Alys couldn't help but look back over her shoulder at her former home until the tunnel made it disappear from her view.

When they entered the streets, she found them lined with residents of the city. The tears she'd been keeping back finally began to fall as the people threw flowers at her and called out blessings and good wishes.

"Bye, Alys!" a young girl Alys recognized as being a student at the City School named Ada cried from her position atop her father's broad shoulders. She waved fiercely, and Alys raised her hand to wave back. "We love you, and we won't forget you!" Ada declared.

"Gods be with you, Magnara!" The baker, Alicent, called.

The same pattern continued throughout the city, and it made Alys both smile and cry with love for the people her family ruled over.

* * *

_**Northern Kingsroad: 9**__**th**__** September 297 After Conquest**_

Alys didn't like the wheelhouse. It was too confining, and she much preferred to be outside, riding on her borrowed horse with the icy autumn wind flowing through her braid. There was no feeling quite as soothing as that, in Alys' opinion.

But while she and her Northern ladies all enjoyed what they considered to be the relatively warm wind of the North, the Dornish disagreed. The ladies got priority for the wheelhouse, but the men had no shame in arguing over who got to sit in the wheelhouse beside the stove. Alys' husband ruthlessly took advantage of his position as the highest-ranking member of their party to sit inside, close to the stove. He had insisted, whenever he did so, that Alys join him in there too. And while being in the wheelhouse meant lessons on Dornish culture (which she enjoyed) and politics (which she did not), Alys did like spending time with her two younger stepdaughters, and she thought that she was becoming friends with Sarella as well.

"Alllyyysss," Arya whined from where she had been doing sums on a slate. "This is boorriing. Sing something, please? Studying is much better when you sing."

"Mother, you can sing?" Dorea twisted to look up at her eagerly. Loreza, who was sitting on the carpeted floor of the wheelhouse so she could play with Nymeria and Ghost, also looked up at her in interest.

Alys smiled down at the pair, feeling warm when the young girl addressed her in that manner. As near as she could tell, Alys was 'Mother' while the late Ellaria Sand was 'Mama'. Alys was doing her best not to disrespect the woman's memory by taking her place, but she was pleased with her relationship with the two young girls. Especially as Oberyn had warned her already that his older daughters with Ellaria had not taken the news of his marriage well at all.

"I can sing a bit," she admitted. "And I have played the rebec for years. Twas a gift from Father for my fifth birthday."

"You are too modest, dearest," Rosael called, looking up from her sewing. "You sing beautifully, and you are enchanting on your rebec. I have the case here under my seat, if you wish to play."

"You have been negligent, Wife," Oberyn told her teasingly, reaching out to grasp her hand and place a kiss on her fingertips. "How could you fail to inform me that you are musical? I insist that you make up for this immediately by entertaining us with a song."

"Yes, Princess," Lady Delonne agreed. "I myself have no skill at all in music, but I do love to hear it. Sing us something, please."

"I am not so good as Rosael says!" Alys insisted, before sighing and giving in. "But if you insist. Rosael, would you-?" Before she had even finished the question, her surrogate mother had handed her the instrument, and she quickly checked to ensure that it was in tune.

"Noble ladies don't really play the rebec in the South," Lady Jeyne Fowler commented. "It's more common to learn the harp, or the flute perhaps. I can't think of a single noble lady who plays the rebec of my acquaintance outside yourself, Princess."

Alys had no intention of learning to play the harp. That was practically asking for trouble, as she had finally realized that her musical talent must have been inherited from her sire, who had supposedly been capable of making grown warriors weep with his voice. No doubt that was why her father had avoided letting her learn. She had asked to learn the harp originally, but he had steered her towards the rebec instead, and she thanked the Gods for it.

Thankfully, she didn't have to reply, as Maege had taken it upon herself to inform the Dornish that the rebec was commonly played by nobility and commoners alike in the Winter Lands.

"It suits our songs better, in general," Maege explained.

"What song shall I play, Arya?" Alys asked once the rebec was ready and settled in her arms, her fingers resting lightly on the strings in preparation.

"Play Winter Moon!" Arya decreed straight away. "I love that one, even though it's very sad. You sing it so lovely."

"I do not believe that I know that song," Oberyn mused. "Is it from the North?"

"Aye," Alys confirmed softly. She inhaled and exhaled softly, before being to pluck the strings delicately and opening her mouth to sing.

"_In the woodlands low, born of ice and snow,_  
_there's a maiden weeping tonight._  
_Snow falls softly 'neath the winter moon_

_Forest bare and white, she dwells there by night_  
_Listen to her cry sorrow's song._  
_Snow falls softly 'neath the winter moon_

_Breathless, icy, bright. Daughter of the night._  
_Oh, who do you cry for?_  
_Keening softly 'neath the winter moon_

_Traveller passing through, feet all bare, his smile was true_  
_His eyes shone with starlight_  
_he waked softly 'neath the winter moon_

_Love made my heart soar, you're the one I've waited for_  
_Stay with me forever_  
_she cried softly 'neath the winter moon_

_In the snow he stayed, from my side he did not stray_  
_My hands could not warm him_  
_He died softly 'neath the winter moon..."_

She let her voice trail off with the final strums of the rebec, opening her eyes when she realized that she had closed them. Save for Arya, Rosael and Maege, who had all heard her sing before and simply looked pleased, the group all appeared shocked.

"Well, Princess," Lady Myria said shakily, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. "You shall have no shortages of requests for you to present at court. Truly, I don't believe I've ever heard such a lovely singing voice."

"Aye, Princess," Lady Delonne agreed. "You have the voice of an angel from the heavens."

"You all flatter me too much," she claimed, setting down the rebec. "Truly."

"You sing brilliantly, Mother," Loreza insisted. "Sing another song, please?"

"Oh, I don't know," Alys tried to demur.

Unfortunately, she had a very determined husband, who pressed the instrument back into her hands again.

"I insist that you sing another song, my lady wife," he declared. "As payment for depriving me of the opportunity to enjoy your beautiful voice previously. Though mayhaps this time you would agree to sing a more cheerful song?"

"Oh, very well," she sighed, giving in to the inevitable. "What shall I sing this time, then?"

"How about the one about King Torrhen XIII and Queen Alina?" Rosael suggested. "That's a lovely one."

"Alright," Alys agreed, once again beginning to pluck the strings of her rebec. She had to admit, it was a lovely feeling, losing herself in the music she so loved.


	16. Oberyn 4

**Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT.**

**Chapter Fifteen**

**Oberyn Four**

_**The Northern Ship Alayne, near the Vale, 23**__**rd**__** September 297 After Conquest**_

The journey was passing quicker than Oberyn had expected it to. With the wheelhouse, they had taken only four and a half days to get from Winterfell to White Harbour, as there had been no snow storms to delay them. This was despite the fact that, as Alyssa had predicted, the white ravens had arrived at Winterfell the day before they left, announcing the arrival of Autumn.

They had arrived late at White Harbour, and spent the night at the Manderly's keep, with Vice Admiral Wyman taking advantage of their arrival to dote on his granddaughter for a bit longer before she went away to Dorne. Their ship had left early the following day, and the strong winds and expert craftmanship of the ship had sent them speeding through the water, cutting a swathe in it. Now, two weeks had passed aboard the ship, a full moon since his and Alyssa's marriage, and they were half-way to Dorne.

He felt a twinge of sickness coming from Alys through the link, causing his grin from watching Ulwyk make a fool of himself in front of Ygritte again to change into a frown. He turned to Sarella, who was lost in a book, and tapped her shoulder to draw her attention.

"Yes Father?" she asked, looking up at him.

"I'm going to check on Alys," he murmured to her. "Watch the girls, please."

"Yes Father," she agreed. She went back to reading, but he could tell that she was keeping one eye on her sisters and Arya, who were playing with Nymeria on the floor.

Oberyn went out and headed for the spacious cabin he and his bride were sharing.

He had to admit, while he was still partially unhappy at being forced into a marriage with such a young lady, he was pleased with the Gods' choice of bride for him. Alyssa was very beautiful, with many talents. And she was a quick learner in many subjects, too.

A lecherous grin crawled over his lips as he thought of that. They hadn't lain together while travelling to White Harbour, as it was simply too cold, even with the brazier and furs that insulated the inside of their tent. Not to mention Alyssa's shyness and modesty had made her mortified at the thought of anybody hearing them. He had given in to that grudgingly, though he hoped that she would lose that conservativeness quickly. It wouldn't do well for her in Dorne. But since they'd boarded the boat, he taken her nightly. It was wonderful to return to being active in bed again, even if he mourned the ability to show Alyssa the bigger world of lovemaking.

His smirk disappeared when he entered the room to find his young wife bent over a basin while Rosael held back her hair.

"Alyssa, what's wrong?" he demanded. It could have been sea sickness, but she had been mostly fine for the past fortnight, save a few moments of nausea. He hurried over to her side, taking Rosael's place in supporting her.

"Ah, she's fine, Your Highness," Rosael replied in Alyssa's place, as his wife was still groaning over the basin. "I'll give you two a few minutes. Call me if you need me."

With that, she strode confidently out the door and shut it behind her. Although Rosael was apparently a native of his own homeland, she had been in the North so long, she'd picked up on their disdain for wasting time. This was not the first time she had left or spoken without waiting for permission.

Alyssa finally straightened up, but leaned her head against his chest tiredly, her eyes closed. He was a mixture of concerned by her grey-tinged complexion and pleased that she had grown comfortable enough with him to do so.

"Are you well, my darling?" he asked her gently.

She sighed, re-opening her eyes to show the grey-violet orbs he was rapidly growing to love the sight of. "Aye, we're both well," she informed him, a shy smile on her face. "The babe simply isn't fond of boats, it seems."

It took a moment for her words to sink in. Then it hit him. "The babe?" he repeated in shock. "Are you certain?"

She nodded. She was opening her mouth to continue speaking when something happened.

_Alys groaned and turned her face into the damp cloth that Rosael was dabbing over her clammy forehead. "I don't understand why I suddenly feel so sick," she complained._

"_I think I might," Rosael hummed. There was a mysterious smile on her lips, and her brown eyes sparkled warmly as she met Alys' own gaze._

"_So?" Alys pressed her. "What's wrong with me?"_

"_When did you last have your courses, my love?" her former nurse turned housekeeper asked with a smile._

_Alys was confused for a second, before realization clicked and she felt her eyes grow wide with hope and nerves. "Do you really think so?" she asked eagerly. "Is it not too soon to tell? We've barely been married a full moon!"_

"_Aye, but I spent three years as a midwife apprentice, and then five years as an actual midwife for my village," Rosael retorted. "I attended on your mother her whole pregnancy, and had my own babe too, Gods rest their sweet souls. Not to mention delivering your three younger siblings. I know the signs, my love."_

"_But how can you be certain?"_

"_You haven't had your courses this month, have you?" Rosael questioned her. "Your last bleeding was before the wedding."_

_Alys thought back, counting, then nodded. "Yes. But you said it can sometimes be irregular."_

"_Yes, but the sickness would usually start around now," Rosael reasoned. "And you mentioned that your breasts are feeling tender, and that you felt mild cramps last night. Those are all symptoms of early pregnancy. Believe me, I know."_

_Alys laughed in delight, finding herself hugging her stomach in utter joy. "Oh, Rosael!" she exclaimed. "I'm going to have a babe!"_

"_You'll be a wonderful mother," Rosael replied warmly. "As your interactions with the girls show."_

"_Well, I have a wonderful example, don't I?" Alys murmured, glancing at Rosael through her lashes. Rosael went teary, picking up on what Alys hadn't said aloud, and reached out to draw her into a tight embrace. It only lasted a few moments, however, as Alys was forced to pull away to grab the basin when the ship bounced again, making her stomach churn._

"What was that?" Alys gasped in surprise.

"It was as if I were seeing you and Rosael discovering your pregnancy, but I was watching from your eyes, not from the outside," Oberyn blinked.

"The bond, I suppose," Alys hummed. "I shall have to write that in my journal."

Said journal had been a wedding gift from her sisters. It was a beautiful thing, with a leather cover dyed a light purple with Alys' new personal badge, a wolf's head in a nest of winter roses with a snake peeking out from the bottom left side of the bouquet to honour him and her birth family. Alys had been faithfully recording her day in it nightly (as Stark custom dictated), and jotting down anything that occurred with the bond in it too.

She wrote everything in a language specially used by the Starks, apparently an encrypted version of Old Tongue. She wrote her family letters in it too, as did Arya. Oberyn was frankly amazed anybody could intrepret messages from those runes. Some of them had only the size as a difference, yet still appeared to mean completely different things.

Alys shook her head, dismissing those thoughts. She met his eyes, and he realized she was getting worried by his lack of expression of happiness.

"Are you pleased, milord?" she asked tentatively, a hint of hurt starting to dawn in her eyes. Her hands cradled her belly protectively.

Oberyn forced a bright smile, trying to squash the worry and grief he felt at her news. "Of course, darling," he declared. "I am absolutely delighted to learn that we are to have another daughter. Truly, I am."

He really was too. He loved the thought of another babe in his arms. A girl as beautiful and kind as her gentle mother was. But he was worried too.

Ellaria had been older and stronger in body than Alys when she gave birth to Loreza, and yet childbed fever had stolen her away from him, leaving him bereft of her love.

And he had been at Elia's side throughout both of her pregnancies, caring for and supporting his sister as she struggled to birth the two babes she had loved so deeply. Both times, Elia had been bedridden for months, trying to recover her strength after the birth. Aegon in particular had nearly been the death of her.

Alyssa was four-and-ten now, and would not be turning five-and-ten until next June. Doing some quick math in his head, he was concerned to realize that she would likely be delivering prior to her next nameday. Fourteen was younger than he was comfortable with his wife giving birth at. Especially when he knew that her mother and both of her grandmothers had all died in childbed.

But despite that, there was nothing to be done about it now. He comforted himself with the fact that she had good, wide hips, despite her slim body, and he would simply keep a careful eye on her. Rosael was ever at her side and apparently had midwife training, and maybe it would be best if he had a maester assigned specifically to Alyssa's household for the duration of her pregnancy.

"Are you truly pleased?" Alyssa asked doubtfully. "You do not seem so."

He winced as he felt her hurt and insecurity. As he had learned was standard for his young wife when she was feeling hurt, she began drawing in on herself, removing herself from his embrace.

"Alyssa," he caught her chin in his hands and inclined her head to let him meet her hurt gaze. "I am overjoyed to become a father again. I am just worried. The last time a woman delivered a babe for me, I lost her. I would be distraught to lose you as well in the same manner, and you are young for giving birth. I am only concerned, that is all."

She searched his gaze, then nodded quietly. "I understand," she agreed softly. "But I will not drink moon tea, even if you insist. I want this babe more than anything. I will not kill it for my own sake."

"Our sake," Oberyn noted ruefully. "Given our lives are bound, now and forever. But no, I will not make you drink moon tea. I would never force you into such a thing. Not after a pregnancy has been confirmed. But you must take the utmost care during the next few months, yes Wife? Watch yourself carefully, and let your body be your guide. If you are tired, rest. If a food makes you ill, do not eat it. But I promise you darling, I love this daughter of ours with everything in me already."

It was the truth. The babe wasn't even a bump on her mother's waist yet, but Oberyn could already picture her: a head of dark curls to match her mother's, with Alyssa's violet-grey eyes and his own dark colouring. Her mother's sweet nature and his own skill in battle. (though if she were as good as Alys had turned out to be with her own sword, he would be equally pleased. His wife was not on his level, but she could and did beat her elder brother with ease. She had a natural talent that had not been nurtured as it should have been, a tragedy in Oberyn's opinion. He was taking steps to rectify that situation.) Yes, his next daughter would be as perfect as her older sisters already were. He could feel his excitement growing the more his thoughts lingered on the babe.

"You don't know that it's a girl," Alyssa huffed, pouting slightly. She must have picked up on his sincerity, because she once again relaxed into his arms. He adjusted their position so she was seated on his lap, one of his hands resting on her belly where their child was only just beginning to grow, while the other was draped across the front of her chest, holding his wife to him. His legs were stretched out on the bed, and Alys' were tangled with them. His back was against the wall.

He smirked, planting a kiss on her shoulder and making her shiver when he proceeded to follow it up with a small nip. "Oh, I think history speaks for itself, my darling," he purred. "I have eight daughters, with not a son among them. I clearly only have girls."

"And that does not bother you?" she asked. The strain he felt in her made him stop pressing kisses to her shoulder and neck, and twist her around to face him. She was biting her lip and her eyes were downcast.

He cursed himself for not discussing this with her. Of course, generally it was held that a woman's duty as a wife was to provide heirs. More specifically, most men desired _male_ heirs.

He was not among those, of course. His sole concern was that both mother and child come through safely. It hardly made a difference in Dorne, where both men and women could inherit equally, anyway. But he hadn't made that clear to Alyssa and he cursed himself for it. After all, she was a sweet young woman, but her stepmother and the Incident (as Alyssa and her family referred to it) had left her with a great deal of emotional problems.

He cupped her cheek, tilting her head until she met his eyes. "That most definitely does not bother me in any manner," he vowed to her sincerely. "The _only _concern you are to have for this pregnancy, my wife, is that you keep yourself and our babe healthy. It matters not a whit to me whether we have a dozen sons or a single girl. All that I care about is that both of you are healthy. Understood, Alyssa?"

She searched his gaze, then smiled gently. "Aye, understood." She hesitated a second, then tentatively leaned in to press her lips against his in a soft kiss.

Oberyn was delighted as he deepened it, entangling his fingers in her thick curls as she did so. This was the first time in their relationship that Alyssa had initiated a kiss with him. He was making more progress daily, it seemed.


	17. Catelyn 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own AsoIaF/GoT. I added another OC family to the background info for anybody looking.**

**Chapter Sixteen**

**Catelyn One**

_**Riverrun: 27th **__**September, 297 After Conquest**_

Catelyn had to hold back tears of relief when the walls of her childhood home finally came into view. She had spent a full moon travelling to get there, and it had been a difficult journey.

For one thing, her husband had forced her to use a _cart _to travel, of all things, and it was made for transporting produce or items, not delicate ladies who were used to the finest luxuries she could use (though her standard of living had been heavily reduced when she became the Lady of Winterfell. The Northerners scorned luxury in favour of practicality.). Her backside was bruised from the jolting of the wheels on the cobblestone road, and her cloak worn out from the damp weather of the North.

She had a small escort of five Ice Guards assigned to protect her, and they wouldn't speak to her more than the bare minimum required. And hadn't that been an insult? She was Magnar Stark's wife, the mother of his _trueborn _children. She was going on a long journey, yet her husband had only given her five guards for protection. She also had her handmaiden, Lynesse Paege, a niece of the previous Lord Paege and cousin to the current. She was the only Riverlander lady left to Catelyn of her original entourage. All of the others had eventually been defeated by the cold weather, lack of respect for the true gods, or lack of men willing to marry them, and returned to the South.

Lynesse was usually good company and a great comfort to Catelyn, but the travel had made both of them miserable. They had stopped at the various keeps along the way, and the Lords and Ladies of the castles had hosted them as propriety required. But even though nobody had mentioned it, Catelyn knew that they all knew she was being sent home.

Set aside, and her children had all outright stated to her face that they neither wanted to write to her, nor would they read any letters.

She felt herself scowl and clench her fists. It was all The Bastard's fault. She had ruined everything, as she always did.

Catelyn had been less than concerned by the fact that her husband had betrayed her. . Offended, yes, but The Bastard was a girl younger than Robb, who had still been nursing at Cat's breast when she heard of it. Robb had been her main concern, not some whore's child. She had only met Ned on their wedding day, after all. They had both lost their betrotheds at the same time, marrying each for duty, not even affection. Catelyn had still been in love with Brandon and mourning him at the time, and men at war had needs. So no, that part hadn't been what upset her. Even if he had acknowledged the girl and sent money for her upkeep, Catelyn could've coped, so long as she didn't have to _meet _the girl herself.

What_ did _upset her was that Ned had brought the girl back with him, putting the child in _Robb's_ nursery and refusing to put her with the servants as Cat had asked. He'd been furious at the request, in fact.

Not only that, but Alyssa Snow was so very obviously the favourite child of both Catelyn's husband and goodbrother. Benjen had doted on the girl far more than he ever did Robb, during the four years he spent living at Winterfell before moving to the Moat to take up his position as Guardian of the Neck. Catelyn might've thought he just preferred little girls, but he had never showered Sansa or even Arya with the same amount of devotion either. And Ned_ adored _his natural daughter. During the child's infancy, he had often been seen with the girl cradled in his arms as he dealt with one matter or another.

The more Catelyn fell for her husband, the more resentful she became at the constant reminder of the slut who had given him the child he doted on so much. It was infuriating how, despite her not bearing the name, all of the Northerners all commented on very _Stark_ the girl was, in temperament and looks.

And what made it worse was how much Catelyn's own babes loved their half-sister. She had done her best to separate the girl from her children, to ensure that she wouldn't be able to harm them or lead them astray the way bastards always tried to do to their trueborn siblings. But Ned had learned of what she was doing, and it was the first time that Cat had ever feared her husband would strike her. He had forbidden it, and sent away Septa Mordane and Septon Chayle, leaving Catelyn without even the comfort of her faith.

After that, she had been forced to watch helplessly as The Bastard drew her half-siblings further and further under her spell. Without Septa Mordane to help, and with Ned having taken away control of the girls' education and put in the hands of the Glover widow, Arya had grown wild to the point that Catelyn despaired of her ever marrying. Even Sansa knew how use a knife and hunt with a bow and arrow! Catelyn was horrified every time she spotted the girls mounted on horses, wearing breeches under their split skirts.

And for The Bastard to be Marked, of all things! The girl worshipped the _tree gods_, and she was a _bastard_! How could she have been blessed by the Gods? If any Stark ought to be Marked by the Gods, then it ought to be one of Catelyn's children, born in a true marriage made in the Light of the Seven. Robb had even gotten a proper naming ceremony in a sept, though unfortunately Ned had refused to do the same for the other children. Not the daughter of some whore who had already shown she was following in her unknown mother's footsteps during the incident with the Bolton Bastard and Greyjoy heir. How could the Gods be so cruel?

"Nearly there, milady," Lynesse chirruped in a tone of forced cheer.

"Aye," Catelyn agreed, her blue eyes fixed on the familiar stone walls of her childhood home. Part of her was overjoyed to at last be returning. She had missed Riverrun dearly since she left for her married home. But while living in Winterfell had made her miserable, it was where her children were. Oh, what would happen to her babes without her to guide them?

Sansa would never be queen, without Catelyn to convince her husband to agree to betroth her to Prince Joffrey. And knowing Ned, he would probably decide to marry their children to his bannermen, instead of following Cat's advice and marrying them to members of important houses. The Tyrells had a girl of suitable age to marry Robb, and the Reach was where the Faith was strongest. Catelyn was sure that, with influence from his mother and wife, Robb could be convinced to convert to the true faith and save his soul.

And the thought of Arya, wild as she already was, loose in Dorne of all places, made Catelyn faint with horror. Dorne was even more savage than the North! She'd end up losing her maidenhead before she flowered at this rate! Gods knew The Bastard couldn't be trusted to safely guide her sister, and the Viper would be more likely to take Arya's maidenhead than protect it.

Catelyn was so busy fretting over her children that she barely noticed the cart being guided across the drawbridge and into the welcoming courtyard.

"Hello, Sister."

Cat jolted in surprise at the sight of her brother. The last she had seen him, Edmure had been a little boy, still too young even to squire. Now, he was a man. He shared the auburn hair and blue eyes of the Tullys, and wore a tunic of striped red and blue with a doublet embroidered with a silver trout. He had grown a fiery red beard as well, and he was frowning as he helped her down from the cart.

"Edmure," she smiled at him as best she could. "You look so well, Brother. Where is Father?"

"In his solar, with Uncle Brynden," Edmure replied evenly. "He asked me to bring you up to see him as soon as you had washed and refreshed yourself. One of the maids will escort you and your handmaid to your old rooms to clean up, while I speak to your escort."

Catelyn felt her smile falter at her brother's cool greeting and less-than-pleased demeanour. And why had her father not come to greet her? She had always been his favourite daughter, and they had not seen each other in years. Was he so very ill that he couldn't even come down to the courtyard? Then something else Edmure had said caught her attention.

"Did you say that Uncle Brynden is here?" she asked, startled. "I thought that he and Father still weren't speaking!"

"Aye, he arrived two days ago," Edmure explained curtly. "Father requested he come after receiving news of your, visit."

Catelyn's heart sank at the way Edmure said the word 'visit'. Her family knew, then, that she had been cast aside. And as Ned Stark's honour was well-known, and she was a woman, of course everybody assumed it was her fault. And now that she had been Marked, nobody would care that it was really The Bastard's fault that Catelyn's fragile marriage had fallen apart. Family, Duty, Honour. Catelyn had only been trying to protect her children, and avenge her honour!

"Edmure-," she began, but he raised a hand, eyeing her sternly. "Wait," he ordered. "Father wishes to speak with you. Go with Evaline." He nodded at an elderly serving woman who curtsied.

Dismayed, Catelyn followed the woman with slumped shoulders and Lynesse following quietly at her heels.

* * *

At least she had been able to have a nice, refreshing bath. It was far better than the suffocatingly hot baths taken in Winterfell. They all took place in bath houses, where the air was so hot that you couldn't see your hand in front of your face, and a dozen women shared the large pools at a time. Catelyn hated those, the steam made her feel faint and the sight of the other women showing their skin embarrassed her deeply. Especially because it had been made obvious from the start that Catelyn wasn't welcome around the rest of them.

She freshened up and dressed in the dress provided, a lovely red and blue thing made in the Southron fashion with silk, a pleasant change from the dark wools she'd worn for the past decade and a half in the North. Then she had some sandwiches to eat and a goblet of wine. After that, however, she could delay no longer.

Her stomach churned as she left her childhood room (which she had been happy to note was unchanged since the day she left) and made her way to her father's solar.

Lord Hoster Tully, though he had been ill the past year, still sat with straight shoulders and a proud demeanour. His red hair and beard were heavily streaked with grey and he had gotten portly over the years. Nevertheless, Catelyn still felt like the child who had been caught pulling her little sister's hair when he surveyed her.

It hurt when he greeted coldly, with a nod and a curt "Catelyn." She tried not to show it as she curtsied to him. Hoping for a better reception from the uncle who had always spoiled her, she turned to the Blackfish and gave him a smile.

"Uncle, how wonderful to see you."

"Hello Cat," the old knight sighed. "Welcome back, dearest."

"What did you do, Catelyn?" Lord Hoster cut right to the chase. "What folly did you commit that your husband would set you aside? By the name of the Gods, do you realize how humiliating this is for us? The honourable Eddard Stark, father and goodfather to the newest Marked couple in Westeros, set his wife aside! Have you any idea how badly this damages our House's standing?

No man in his right mind will ever agree to an alliance with a House at odds with a Marked couple or their family! Already, almost every betrothal offer for Edmure has been withdrawn, save for the ones from the damn Freys!

Even worse, I've received letters from both Magnar Stark and Prince Doran, informing me that I need no longer concern myself with trading with their kingdoms! Our economy will crash! The greatest source of income for the Riverlands comes from exporting food to Dorne and the North. So explain to me right now, Daughter. What. Did. You. Do?"

Catelyn swallowed nervously and clenched her skirts nervously. She had not known that Ned had decided to cut trade with her kingdom too. Nor had she been aware that word of what happened spread so fast. How had that happened?

It must have been the Viper, she concluded, recalling the look of dark fury he had directed her while reminding her that she hadn't just wished for The Bastard's babes to be stillborn, but for Martells to be die. He must have had word spread of her being set aside, so as to gain revenge for the perceived slight. Damn that man to the seven hells, she cursed mentally.

"Well, Catelyn?" her father's stern voice cut through her racing thoughts. Catelyn dared to glance at him, but she was forced to look away quickly. Her father had never given her such an angry, disappointed look. That had always been reserved for Lysa, never for Cat. Cat had always been the perfect lady and daughter. It hurt to see her father so angry with her.

In a small voice, she explained what had happened to cause her husband to send her away in disgrace. When she was done, she stared at the ground, awaiting Lord Hoster's judgement.

"Damn it Catelyn!" he finally snarled, after several long moments of silence. "What were you thinking? To say such things to your lord husband's favourite child, and in front of her Marked betrothed at that! Where has your sense gone? I thought you the best of my children, but now I see that you are as foolish as Lysa!"

That stung, and Catelyn tried to hide her hurt as she responded. "I had not intended for Ned to hear! The Bastard rarely spoke to him of how I treated her, how was I to know that Robb and Ser Myles would round the corner at that moment, or that Ned and the Prince would come? And anyway, the Dornish are savages! Surely the political ramifications will not be so bad as it seems right now!"

"Cat," Uncle Brynden sighed tiredly. The disappointment in his eyes hurt even worse than her father's chiding. "The consequences of this will only worsen as word travels. The Marked are sacred, you know that. The moment those Names appeared, both the Starks and Martells became politically untouchable for as long as the pair lives. Anyone with a bit of sense of respect for the Seven or the Old Gods or whatever deities they worship will avoid House Tully like the plague so long as we are at odds with them, just as they will now avoid dealings with the Lannisters as much as they can. Our bannermen have ever been eager to supplant us as Lord Paramounts of the Riverlands. If they can make it seem as if your actions are an act of heresy against the Gods' current most favoured ones instead of those of a scorned woman with hurt pride, then they might very well succeed in doing so this time. That's not even bringing Magnar Stark's connections with the King and Lord Arryn into the matter."

"We must do our best to fix this disaster," Hoster announced, still glaring at Cat, who struggled to keep from crying. "The King has announced a tourney to celebrate the Markings of your stepdaughter and Prince Oberyn. It will coincide with the Feast of the Mother.

The two of us will go to King's Landing for it. There, you will seek an audience with the Princess, and you will beg her, on bended knee if needs be, for her to intercede with her husband and father on the Riverlands' behalf.

_Not_ on your own behalf. I doubt that Magnar Stark will ever accept you back, as your marriage was a disaster from the start given your foolish refusal to mould yourself according to the desires of your lord and his people. His bannermen will likely rebel if he tried, from what Lady Lynesse has said to me.

But you _will _do everything you can to persuade the Princess to restore House Tully and the Riverlands to the good graces of the Martells and Starks. If you should fail, I will have no choice but to cast you out, for the sake of the family name."

"Father, you cannot mean that!" Catelyn cried in distress. "I am your daughter! Family, Duty, Honour! How could you-?"

"Exactly!" the Lord Paramount of the Riverlands snapped back. "Family, Duty, Honour! I have a duty to this family to preserve our honour and standing, even if it means casting you off! You ought to recall the meaning of the words you speak before speaking them!"

"My honour was sullied by that bastard!" Cat insisted. "I was protecting my children, my family, from a bastard certain to try and steal what was rightfully theirs!"

"Oh, you cannot really believe such nonsense," Lord Hoster scoffed. "I have three bastards, your brother has two. All of them know their heritage, but do they try and make a claim for House Tully? No, because as long as bastards are given money for themselves to live comfortably, they generally don't. Only if they are mistreated do they lash out.

And anyway, you should be pleased that your husband only had one bastard living in Winterfell. Had you married Brandon, you likely would have been forced to put up with closer to fifty, given their tradition of raising their base born children alongside their trueborn ones. I can't say that I approve, but I acknowledge that Winterfell bastards are generally their half-siblings' most loyal bannermen when they grow up, so it works for them.

Now, I have had enough of the sight of you. Go to your room, you shall remain there until we leave." He waved a hand at her in dismissal, and Catelyn could do nothing else but rise to shaking legs and stagger out, trying to hold back her sobs until she reached her bedchamber.

She had hoped that her uncle would come and comfort her, but he never did. Even the Blackfish had abandoned her, it seemed. It was all The Bastard's fault. And no doubt she would be gleeful when Cat was forced to beg her for forgiveness.


	18. Doran 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT. Near the end, Oberyn has something not quite true about the Northern army. This is not a typo, but simply him not having full understanding of it.**

**Chapter Seventeen**

**Doran One**

_**Sunspear: 30**__**th**__** September, 297 After Conquest.**_

Doran had decided that, for his first meeting with his new goodsister, it would be small and private, inside his solar. Later, she would be officially presented to the Dornish court at the feast that was being prepared. But he thought it would be better to welcome his brother's young wife in a more informal setting, so that she would be more at ease with him. His brother had written him already about his wife's introverted nature around people she did not know, and Doran did not want to intimidate the girl.

Of course, being confined to a wheelchair made being intimidating difficult, but he knew that being introduced to the Ruling Prince of Dorne in front of the thousands of Dornishmen and women that made up Sunspear's court would be enough to make somebody raised for it quail. Never mind a girl of four-and-ten who had suddenly been elevated from bastard to Princess without warning.

He shuffled through the documents on his desk as he waited for Oberyn and the young lady to arrive, having already been sent word that they were simply freshening up before coming to greet him. Doran smirked slightly in amusement as he glanced at a particular stack of letters set aside. He _did _have a mischievous side, even if he rarely allowed it out, and that part was gleeful when he pictured the sight of Oberyn's expression when he revealed what they were all about.

He also had to discuss some more serious things with his younger brother too, Doran mused absently to himself. He needed to learn what Oberyn had found out about the North and how sympathetic the Starks were to the Martells' cause of Elia's Justice. The details of the marriage contract were very generous, which was a good sign, but Oberyn had enough sense to know what was and wasn't safe to commit to paper.

And Doran still needed to know what it was that had happened to enrage Oberyn so much he had insisted they pull out of their trading contracts with the Riverlands. Doran had dutifully done so, as Delonne's letter had assured him that Oberyn had genuine reason to demand such, but he still had yet to know _why_. Thankfully, they were now about half-way through negotiating for Quentyn to marry Lady Margaery of House Tyrell, so the Reach would be able to supplement the lost Riverlands' food imports.

Finally, a knock interrupted his thoughts, and he called out for them to enter. Oberyn entered, his hair still damp though it was drying quickly in the hot air. Leaning on his arm and looking nearly faint from the midday sun was Doran's new young goodsister.

Looking at her, Doran suddenly felt a dozen small things click into place.

Alyssa Martell of House Stark had thick, dark-brown/black curls that were currently pulled into a braid. Doran recognized them instantly as Rhoynar curls. No other type was quite as thick or perfectly formed as Rhoynar curls were, unless they were purposely styled in that way. And he could tell that hers were not. Her skin was pale, though her cheeks had turned pink from the temperature, and utterly bereft of any freckles or spots. Something that frequently occurred in Valyrians. Her lips were rosebud-pink and had a Cupid's bow shape, the same as Queen Rhaella and Queen Shaera's had been. Her eyes were doe like, a mix of Stark grey and Targaryen violet. She was short, again a feature of the female Targaryens Doran had met.

Lyanna Stark had been missing for over a year, more than enough time for Rhaegar, who had been obsessed with having_ three _children, to get a babe on her. The late Magnara had died of a _fever_. Not the result of mistreatment (or rather, not totally) but _childbed_ fever.

Of course, Doran could be wrong. But he doubted it. He would have some trusted agents confirm it for him, but as far as Doran could tell, he was being curtsied to by the rightful Queen of Westeros. The Gods truly did work in mysterious ways, and the Prince thanked them for it.

"Prince Doran, I am honoured to meet you," Alyssa greeted him in a gentle, musical voice. A more feminine version of Rhaegar's.

"Welcome to the family, my dear goodsister," Doran replied, smiling at her. "I am very pleased to meet you." More than she could possibly realize. His eyes sharpened as he picked up on the way his younger brother was holding the new Princess of Dorne. Oberyn had his arm wrapped around Alyssa's waist, with one hand touching her stomach lightly.

Doran's smile broadened. He had only ever seen Oberyn hold Ellaria like that when she was with child. The pair had been married over a moon now, and Oberyn had well-proven his ability to get women pregnant quickly. The Dornish Treasury wept in relief that they no longer had to spend ridiculous amounts of coin tracking down all of his brother's conquests to find any base born children of the prince. "How was your trip, Brother, Sister?"

"It went quicker than expected," Oberyn shrugged casually, ushering his young bride into a chair. Doran's suspicions were strengthened when he noticed the girl briefly brush her hand over her abdomen as she sat down, before she turned to smoothing her violet skirts. "Though I fear my wife's entourage are not enjoying the climate. How they can mourn that place, I don't know. Nor do I know how any human manages to survive that cold with limbs intact."

"Northerners are strong," Alyssa replied mildly. "But some people simply don't have the ability to manage the difficulties of surviving in our homeland."

Oberyn shot her an injured look at the mildly stinging jest, while Doran chuckled slightly. "Ah, well, whatever can be done to ease you and your ladies' discomfort, simply ask and it shall be done," he told her warmly. "Have you seen your rooms yet? They are the coolest in the palace."

"Not yet, though my ladies and sister went there with the wolves," Alyssa replied. She stood, giving another curtsey. "With your permission, Your Highness, I will leave you with my husband to discuss whatever it is you must speak in regards to." Ah, the direct nature of the Northerners. Doran had to admit, it was refreshing.

"My thanks, milady," Doran inclined his head to her. "And I look forward to conversing with you more later when we have the time."

"Unless Val's predictions come true and you all end up melting from the heat," Oberyn interjected wryly.

"Well, should we all suddenly disappear without a word, you will know what happened, won't you?" Alyssa smirked. She gave another curtsey then swept out of the room in a swirl of purple skirts. Doran caught a glimpse of a woman with red hair, dressed in a tunic and breeches with a bow and quiver slung across her chest and a knife in her belt, waiting for her. She nodded respectfully to Areo as the door snapped shut behind them.

Oberyn turned to him after losing sight of his wife, slumping down into the vacant spare armchair and lounging with one leg draped over the armrest. "So then, Brother, what boredom-inducing topics do you have to speak with me of?"

"First of all," Doran began. "Am I correct in saying that Dorne's new Princess is with child? You work fast, Brother."

Oberyn smirked proudly, but Doran knew his youngest sibling well. He could read the worry mized with the joy in Oberyn's brown eyes. "Aye, Dorne will have another new princess by next May at most," he confirmed. "Though we will wait a while longer to make the announcement. Not until she's showing, at least. Speaking of my children, how have the girls been?"

Doran clicked his tongue. "I have seen them all recently," he began. "Obara and Nym seem genuinely regretful and to have realized their foolishness. I expect that, miraculously, you can look forward to releasing them from their isolation. Tyene, however, persists in declaring that Arianne was in the right, and that the plan only failed due to the Darkstar's meddling."

"She was always closest to Arianne," Oberyn sighed.

Doran inclined his head in acknowledgement of that fact, continuing. "As for the younger girls: Elia spent a sennight with Lord Uller, and came back prepared to attempt to make peace with yourself and your new bride. Obella, however, remains unhappy with your marriage."

Oberyn sighed heavily, rubbing his forehead. "Why must children grow up?" he mused glumly. "Cannot they not obey their father's wishes and remain babes forever? Babes are far simpler to care for then growing girls with minds of their own."

Doran shrugged, a pain catching his chest. He told himself that it was from his worsening health, not thoughts of Arianne. She had been such a bright, happy child. How had he failed her so? He forced those thoughts away for another time. There were other things to contemplate.

"Speaking of which," Doran stated, smirking and earning a suspicious look from Oberyn. "I have these for you." He pushed the stack of letters towards the Red Viper, who picked up the first one, took a single look, and began sputtering in outrage.

"What!? How dare-? Absolutely not! No daughter of mine is marrying! To think, I once considered Baelor Hightower a friend! How dare he-?"

"Offer to marry his stepson, Lord Tarly, to one of your daughters despite the fact that Sarella is base born?" Doran completed dryly, amused by his brother's antics. "Yes, a terrible insult. Dorne ought to declare war on the Reach for such an offence."

Oberyn gave him a martyred look at that. "They are my daughters!" he whined. "I will not give them up."

"You do not have to," Doran conceded. "You are their father, so the final decision is yours of course. And Gods know that your girls are too independent to ever agree to a betrothal to somebody they don't know or like. But consider it, would you? There are offers from all over the Seven Kingdoms, for your children and mine. Your Marking has borne even greater fruit than I dared to hope it would.

I have begun negotiations to marry Quentyn to Margaery Tyrell, and the betrothal contract will not only fix relations with the Reach but also it will allow us to supplement the food missing from the Riverlands from the Reach. Speaking of which, why is it, Brother, that we have cut off all trade with the Tullys and snubbed them outright? Delonne swears that you have a genuine reason to be angered this time, so I am much bemused and concerned."

Oberyn's expression had gone dark with fury and his fists had clenched when Doran questioned him, and he willingly explained the scene he had witnessed in Winterfell, as well as Catelyn Tully's (badly hidden) disdain towards both her stepdaughter and Oberyn's own natural daughters. "I have only grown to loathe the blasted woman more since I began having proper conversations with Alyssa," Oberyn finished off. "Some of things she said to her! Telling a little girl of barely eight years that she was a stain on her father's honour and should've been drowned at birth! The backs of Alyssa's legs still have faint scars from the woman's birch rod breaking skin! Damn her to the most painful of the seven hells!"

Doran scowled and nodded. "Then of course, courting the Tullys' favour is out of the question," he agreed. Technically, Eddard Stark was responsible for his wife's behaviour, especially in his own home. But they could hardly cut off relations with the North now of all times. Nor would it be logical, as Magnar Stark clearly adored his natural child.

Speaking of which.

"This contract is a superb piece of work, Oberyn," Doran commented, tapping the top of the copy of the marriage contract that had been sent to him. "Enough lumber for a small fleet with men to both build them and teach our people to sail them. Enough silver to eliminate our remaining debt with the Iron Bank, medicine to be sent regularly for five years and a defence agreement that defies all expectations! All in exchange for dragonglass that we have no use for, enough yew for three thousand bows and food to be sent during Winter. The Gods blessed our House when they put that Name on your wrist."

"Aye, Magnar Stark was very generous," Oberyn agreed. "I hadn't expected negotiations to be so simple, but the man dotes fiercely on my wife, as does his heir. They were both eager to ensure that she brought benefit to Dorne so our people would be more accepting, and made no secret of it. And, even better," Oberyn leaned forward with a viciously pleased expression. "It seems that the Usurper holds Magnar Stark in far higher esteem than my goodfather feels for the fat cur."

"Oh?" Doran raised an eyebrow. "Do explain, Oberyn."

Oberyn bared his teeth in a bloodthirsty smile. "Stark openly admitted to me that he feels he owes our family a blood debt for Elia and her children, and as good as promised the North's swords to our cause against the Lannisters. He apparently sent orders to the Master of Winter to find out information that can be used against them, with instructions to give anything he found out to me when I go to the capital.

And to put the icing on the cake, he also specifically mentioned that he pledged his allegiance to Baratheon _himself_. He did _not_ pledge the allegiance of the Starks and Winter Lands' to the man, nor his heirs. He also hinted that, given the Usurper's lifestyle, were the Stag King to die suddenly, he for one wouldn't be surprised."

"That _is_ excellent news," Doran breathed. Of course, it made sense, if his theory in regards to Alyssa was correct. If it were, Ned Stark obviously knew that his adoptive daughter/niece was the rightful ruler of Westeros. It wouldn't sit well with a man like Stark to allow his child's birthright to be stolen and squandered by her kins' murderers.

"This is a great advantage for us," Doran steepled his fingers and gazed at a hanging of the Red Mountains as he plotted. "Though, we must wait until our navy is finished to act. But the time approaches swiftly, my brother. Our vengeance is nearly at hand."

"Speaking of vengeance," Oberyn narrowed his eyes again. "Is the Greyjoy heir's survival necessary for your plans, Brother?"

"The Greyjoy boy?" Doran repeated, blinking in surprise. He considered that, then shrugged. "No, I don't believe so. Theon Greyjoy is barely heir in name nowadays, anyway. The Ironborn will not accept him as their ruler, not when he has spent so long away from the Islands. Likely the title will go to his sister or one of his uncles instead. Why?"

Oberyn bared his teeth again, resembling his venomous namesake. "That thrice-cursed rake tried to force himself on my wife. And yet, due to the blasted Usurper being so useless as a king he requires the boy to keep the ironborn in line, he escaped justice. I will have his head for it!"

What would Oberyn do, Doran wondered, when he no longer had vengeance to focus on? Perhaps he would start killing people for waking him up too early. Or maybe his young wife would manage to calm him down a bit. No, that was probably too much to put on her. Though surely ruling the Seven Kingdoms and fixing the mess the Usurper and his lioness queen had made of things would seem like a walk in the park in comparison.

"Well, I don't believe anything is keeping you from giving his head to your new wife as a slightly-belated wedding gift," Doran finally decided after giving it some consideration. "Though they now consider him to be a greenlander, the ironborn will gladly take the excuse to revolt if he were to die mysteriously. And that will further disstabilize and weaken the Usurper's reign, which can only benefit us. That being said, don't allow yourself to be discovered when you murder him, alright? We cannot afford for you to be arrested and beheaded."

Especially if your death steals the last dragon from us too, he added mentally. That wasn't even touching his own heartache at losing another sibling. Oberyn was the only person left that he could fully trust and rely on. The only one who could understand the desperate need to sacrifice anything, just so long as Elia's spirit could rest in peace.

Oberyn looked satisfied, and he nodded crisply. Then he paused, frowning again. "Is there nought to be done to avoid Alyssa coming with me to King's Landing?" he asked, without any hope in his tone. "I do not like her being in that damned place at all. Especially not when she is with child. She should be avoiding travelling anyway, and I'm concerned about her. She is very young to have a babe"

"She did not appear to be in ill-health to me," Doran noted.

Oberyn shrugged. "She is doing better today, despite the heat. But she has not been well. She is exhausted and having trouble eating, or keeping the food down when she eats it. I hope that it was merely due to the ship, but all the same..."

"I understand, Brother," Doran nodded. "Unfortunately, there is nothing to be done to avoid it. The celebration is for you, after all. But take heart, I have carefully arranged your itinerary. You shall arrive at the capital the afternoon prior to the tourney's beginning, and leave the day after it ends, at first light."

"It's to last a sennight, I believe?"

"Yes, and it seems another loan was taken out to afford it," Doran confirmed. He pursed his lips. He did not envy the Usurper's successor, whether it was Alyssa or Daenerys. They would have a great deal of work to do to repair the disaster created by Robert Baratheon and the Lannisters.

Oberyn scoffed in disgust and shook his head. He glowered and huffed, crossing his arms. "I suppose I shall simply have to be a tyrant of a husband for the visit," he drawled. "And not allow my wife to go anywhere without either myself or my hand-picked guards as an escort. You want me to see what my new status as a Blessed One has done for us, I assume? And if there are any problems that can be used to further damage the Usurper's position?"

"Indeed," Doran hummed. "Already, we're receiving marriage offers for all of the family from all corners of the Seven Kingdoms, save for the Winter Lands. I imagine those go to the Starks. Walder Frey offered three different sons each for all of your daughters, and a granddaughter and daughter for myself and my boys. Personally, as I've said already, I am marrying Quentyn to Margaery Tyrell. Then I am considering either Jasmyn Arryn, Lord Denys' daughter, or Shireen Baratheon for Trystane.

Lady Jasmyn is Lord Denys' eldest daughter of the two, and he has mentioned that he is reluctant to take another wife, though he's made an offer for Obara. Given that Lord Arryn's only son is weak and sickly, I have no doubt that Lord Denys will succeed to the Lordship of the Vale soon enough. Marrying Trystane to the likely-future Lady of the Vale will ensure either their neutrality or support in the future. Marrying Obara to Lord Denys would do the same, but she would probably end up slitting his throat, which would damage our relations with the Vale.

And of course, Lady Shireen is heiress to both Dragonstone and the Stormlands. Given Lord Renly's preferences, he is unlikely to sire any heirs of his own body. So marrying Trystane to her would do the same for the Stormlands."

"I'm amazed that Stannis Baratheon of all people would ever consider agreeing to marry his only child to a loyalist family," Oberyn snorted.

Doran smiled mildly. "I'm not certain, Brother, you realize fully how much your Marking has improved our political standing. Nobody with a shred of sense will dare court the wrath of the Gods by angering us while you and Alyssa live, and the smallfolk consider you both to be the earthly equivalents to the Gods themselves now. The chance to call a Marked pair kin is the reason that betrothal offers are pouring in from nearly every House in Westeros, and some from the Free Cities too. Even for your daughters, whom those outside Dorne would have typically scorned for their bastardy."

Oberyn sighed, looking tired. "You will think I have been bewitched, Doran," he mused. "But dare I admit to feeling jealous of anybody even looking at my wife? Mayhaps it is due to never before being constrained in my bed-partners, or else a side-effect of the bond, but I find myself furious and possessive whenever somebody dares to look at her lustfully. I almost wish she were not so beautiful and sweet, as people would be less attracted to her then."

"Such a trial for you," Doran teased him lightly. "Having a pleasant and lovely bride. Truly, I feel my heart bleeding for you, Brother."

Oberyn shot him an annoyed look and continued. "And our bond, I cannot say why, but I despise discussing it with anyone save for Alyssa. It feels very, violating I suppose is the word. Alyssa shares my discomfort, though she's a very private person in general. That reminds me, I must make it up to Sarella for snapping at her when she tried to ask to read Visenya's journal."

"Do you mean Magnara Visenya Stark, of House Targaryen?" Doran asked, stunned. "Where-?"

"It seems that the Starks and their people take their history very seriously," Oberyn explained. "How did Alyssa phrase it? Ah yes. Those who forget history are doomed to repeat it. I believe that one of the many late Brandon Starks said that. As such, all Starks had encouraged to record their days in journals as soon as they learn to read and write. They have a special dialect of the Old Tongue especially for it, and I must confess, I'm impressed that they can decipher it, for it is certainly beyond my capabilities.

At any rate, Magnar Stark's wedding gift to Alyssa was Magnara Visenya's journals from her time as Lady of the Winter Lands. It's been quite helpful in regards to grasping certain things. Though hers is in High Valyrian, not the Old Tongue. Sarella wanted to read it, and I grew cross when she persisted, as she was disturbing Alyssa's attempt to rest."

"I see," Doran stated. "Well, I am certain that she will forgive you. But before you go, you mentioned that you had noticed several things about the North that you thought we could adapt for our people. Tell me an outline, then go and greet your girls. I am certain you are eager to meet with them."

"Aye," Oberyn agreed. "And fine, for the sake of Dorne I will speak to the older girls in regards to any proposals sent for them, and see their opinions. I will _not _agree, however, to the youngest four marrying. They're too young for betrothals or marriage. And if they refuse, that's it. I'll not force any of my girls into marriage."

"I would never expect you to," Doran agreed.

Oberyn had always been a wonderful father, ever since Nymeria's mother had given him custody of the babe. Later that year, Oberyn had gone to Oldtown and returned with Obara. He had lavished love and affection on his daughters. If he had any fault with his parenting, it was that he let his girls run wild. He let them do what they like and laughed off any misdeeds.

While it was a kind thing to do, it had prevented the girls from learning that actions had consequences, especially when you were related to the ruling family of a kingdom. They were good-natured girls, but spoilt and arrogant. The incident with Arianne, however, appeared to have both awoken Oberyn to the need to curtail some of his daughters' actions and the girls to the realization that they could not do what they liked solely because they were related to royalty.

"First of all," Oberyn began. "We need to stop sending our criminals to the Wall. I know that we don't do it as frequently as the other kingdoms due to the costs, but we need to put a stop to it completely. The North sees the Wall as the most honourable profession a man can take, and many second or third sons without prospects or the desire for a family go to it. In the eyes of the Northerners, the south greatly insults them and their gods by sending criminals there."

"Very well, that's not too much of a problem," Doran agreed. "Though we need to figure out what to do with those left over, then."

"I have a solution from the North for that too," Oberyn dismissed easily. "In the Winter Lands, criminals can be condemned to hard labour, building ships, fixing roads, tending the farms and mining, all that sort of thing. It ranges between a few months and five years. Any crime that demands longer is a death sentence. It works well for them, as they don't have to pay for the labour, only the cost of the materials and food and clothing for the prisoners.

And you know the way they have men ready to be called to arms at any moment? That's their Ice Guard. When not at war, they act as 'police', enforcing the law all over the North and the Sisters. They have garrisons all over the place, and it allows them to keep their army fighting ready and trained constantly."

"Fascinating," Doran hummed. He'd known that the North had a lower crime level than other kingdoms, and that their army was far more organized and disciplined than others (in spite of people calling them barbarians). But this was the first time he'd heard any reasons for it, due to the Northerners' secrecy about their lives. "Go on."

"And the schools, and hospitals! By the gods, Doran, it's no damn wonder their people are so loyal to them! Everyone, girl or boy, noble or peasant, is required, by law, to attend schools, of which there is one in every village, between the ages of five and ten. Those who stand out academically go to the University of Winter to become Scholars. Should their families be unable to afford the tuition fee for the college, as they call it, some Old Tongue word I believe, then they can petition Winterfell to pay for it. They then spend several years working to pay it back! And of course, Scholars aren't required to give up titles or families, so more prefer to go there than the Citadel, increasing the funding the Starks get further. Can you believe it? No wonder they invent so many things! I'm going to take Alyssa back to visit her family, solely so as to see the Great Library again. I'd always believed the stories about it were exaggerations, but if anything they were _understatements_! I barely got to see three of the twenty-six levels!"

"My, my," Doran raised his eyebrows at his brother's enthusiasm.

This was the lesser-known part of Oberyn, the kind part that cared deeply for everyone (save the Lannisters and their people) and wanted dearly to help them. His lack of ability to do so was part of what made him so angry, Doran often suspected. The Ruling Prince considered the logistics of providing education for all of Dorne. It would be difficult and expensive for sure, but possible. He'd need to look into it. Perhaps he could assign the task of organizing it to Alyssa and Sarella. Sarella would be delighted at the chance, while Alyssa must have some understanding of how her people organized it. "And what was that about the hospitals?"

"They have hospitals in every major settlement. They provide free healthcare for everyone, rich or poor, no discrimination allowed. People are cared for solely based on the needs they have. If a noble came in with a sprained wrist from a fall on ice, they would still have to wait until the peasant farm hand who had broken his leg was finished being tended to. The Starks have a fund set aside specifically to pay for supplying those places.

And it _works,_ Doran. I cannot emphasize that enough to you. The way the citizens, not just the smallfolk but the nobility as well, treat them. You say that the smallfolk of the south think that Alyssa and I are gods on earth now? As far as the people of the Winter Lands are concerned, the Starks are the Old Gods given flesh."


	19. Alyssa 5

**Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT. Mild lemons in this chapter. **

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed compliments about the last update! It makes my day every time, it really does!**

**I'm glad everyone liked Doran's chapter so much! He's a genius who knows his brother well! **

**As for Catelyn, she will eventually realize her wrongs, but too late to reconcile with Ned (I have plans for his HEA!) ;-D**

**I realized that I didn't update the background info to explain what is the Master of Winter, so that's fixed now. Sorry!**

**Read, enjoy and review!**

**Chapter Eighteen**

**Alyssa Five**

_**Sunspear: 30th **__**September, 297 After Conquest.**_

Alys sighed in relief as she sank into the tub. The bath was different to the ones she was used to, a single, small marble tub with gold feet instead of the large, room-sized pools. The temperature was a soothing mixture of cool and warm, and the oils her lady's maid, who'd introduced herself as Emelia, had poured not only produced a sweet rose-scent but also seemed to sink into Alys' sore muscles and soothe the aches and pains away.

It was far better than the cold water and cloth 'baths' she'd been having while travelling from Winterfell to Sunspear. Though she dearly missed the hot baths in Winterfell, with the pools so big they filled the room and the sounds of chatter and laughing filling the air in combination with the scent of pine and hair oils.

"If you don't mind, Your Highness," Emelia curtsied. "I will wash your hair for you now."

Alys nearly told her that there was no need, as she had been washing herself for years, but managed to stop. She'd already been told what was and wasn't appropriate for a Princess of Dorne by both the Dornish ladies and her husband. Apparently, a Princess needed somebody else to help her wash and dress. Alys thought it was ridiculous, but she had submitted, reminding herself of her promise to adapt to Dornish culture. And having help forcing her unruly curls into submission would be a relief, she had to admit. She supposed she'd have to apologize to Emelia for the future struggles with taming her hair, though.

"That would be lovely, thank you Emelia," Alys said instead of telling the girl that she could do it herself.

Emelia smiled, and began pouring some liquid from a gold-coloured vial into her hands. The shampoo smelled like roses, Alys noted with pleasure.

Alys let out another sigh of contentment when Emelia began working her fingers through her curls, gently undoing any knots that had formed and giving her a bit of a head massage in the process.

Emelia Sand was a bastard daughter of the current Lord Yronwood's younger brother, and she shared the features of her Stony Dornish paternal family. Her eyes were as blue as a clear summer sky, and her hair hung to a little past her shoulders in blonde ringlets. Her fair skin was covered in a multitude of freckles and she had a wide smile. Unfortunately, she was kept from being called beautiful by a slightly crooked nose that marred her otherwise-lovely features. She had been assigned as Alys' handmaiden as she followed the Old Gods, which automatically made Alys more comfortable around her.

The now-Princess was doing her best not to show her discomfort in regards to the Faith of the Seven, but she didn't know how well she was managing it. Certainly, her bondmate knew, and the others had probably picked up on it as well. She avoided Septa Evaine as much she could. She genuinely did feel guilty about it, as her Dornish ladies all followed the Faith and were lovely people. But a lifetime of distaste couldn't be gotten rid of in a few weeks, and Alys had the Northern distaste for Andals drilled into her from infancy.

She hoped that Theon the Hungry Wolf wouldn't rise from his grave in outrage at having so much Andal blood mixing with that of the Starks.

Alys frowned slightly, resting a hand on her stomach lightly. It wasn't starting to swell yet, but it was firmer than it had been, and her breasts were sore more often than not. The babe growing within her would be raised with both religions, Alys knew. But she truthfully didn't want the Seven to have any influence over her children.

Her third stepdaughter was living proof of how little septons and septas took their oaths, Tyene's mother having been a sister of the Faith when she'd borne Oberyn a daughter.

She heard the door open, some muffled speech, and then Oberyn came striding in a moment later. He grinned when he spotted her, and she managed not to blush this time. She was adjusting to her husband's lack of shame. She no longer felt utterly mortified when he groped her in public, or muttered salacious comments in her ear. She only felt embarrassed, which was an improvement.

"Emelia, wasn't it?" he checked with her handmaid.

Emelia, who had just finished pouring a jug of water over Alys' head to rinse out the soap, nodded and curtsied. "Aye, milord," she confirmed. "Emelia Sand. Ser Olyvar Yronwood is my father."

"Ah, yes," Oberyn hummed as he made his way over to the tub, reaching up to undo his shirt. "You're dismissed, Mistress Sand. Please attend to my wife's wardrobe for the rest of the day, while I help her wash."

He grinned wickedly at Alys at that, while she felt her cheeks heat up. She cursed him mentally for it. Sensing her mood only made his grin broaden, however, much to her dismay.

"Of course, Your Highnesses," Emelia curtsied. "I'll go and choose a gown for Her Highness to wear this afternoon, and then ready one for the feast this evening. Excuse me."

She curtsied again then swept off, closing the door while Oberyn dropped his shirt lazily on the ground and quickly added his breeches before kicking them out of the way. Alys shifted over to the side, giving her husband room to climb in. He slipped into the tub so smoothly the water barely seemed to ripple, then pulled her onto his lap, with the back of her head resting against his chest.

"How are you feeling, my darling?" he asked her, dropping a kiss on her neck while he reached up to massage one of her breasts.

Alys shifted deliberately, feeling a surge of mischievousness at the feeling of her husband's manhood pressing into her arse. "I'm rather tired," she replied mildly. "This heat is shocking."

"You ought to rejoice," Oberyn retorted. "You have at last discovered what feeling warm is like. But yes, the heat is quite intense compared to what you are accustomed to. We do not wear such light clothes solely for the sake of showing off our bodies, my darling."

"Aye," Alys agreed, moaning when he nipped and then sucked at a spot on her neck. She no longer feared the marriage bed, actually enjoyed it (although that was a fact that in itself made her feel ashamed, even though her husband, Rosael and Ygritte all insisted that it was a good thing, not a bad one.). That being said, she let her husband take the lead and initiate things. She wasn't _that_ comfortable with it yet.

"What's bothering you so?" she mumbled, noticing that something was troubling him beneath the playful, lusty demeanour.

"I have been betrayed, my darling," he huffed. "A man I thought a friend wishes to betroth Sarella to his stepson!"

"How outrageous," Alys scoffed in reply, twisting to look up at him.

"I am pleased you are sympathetic to my pain," he sniffed. "As Doran is not."

"You should not worry so," Alys replied. "If you think the man is a friend, then I am sure you have faith in his character?"

"Aye," he agreed grumpily. "Baelor Hightower was once a suitor of Elia's, and the one I liked the most. He later married the widow of Lord Randyll Tarly, and has three children with her. He raised her son as his own also."

"Well then, I imagine the boy is a good man also," Alys reasoned. "Besides, I cannot see you forcing any of your children into marriage for the sake of power. So simply ask Sarella her opinion. If she wants to meet him, or to say no, yield to her wishes."

"I have said so to Doran already," he answered, pecking her nose. "But I find myself in need of comfort from my wife."

"How awful to know that your daughters are no longer babes," Alys teased, shifting so she straddled his hips and faced him properly.

"Indeed," Oberyn sniffed dramatically. "How disobedient they are! I specifically forbade them all from growing up, yet now there are proposals even for Dorea and Loreza!"

"Terrible," Alys hummed, leaning in to kiss him. "Let me distract you from your suffering, Husband."

He grinned and entwined his hands in her hair, pulling her close to him for a long kiss before releasing her to breathe.

"You are so beautiful, darling," he purred in her ear, nibbling at it while she inclined her head to grant him better access, ignoring the ache it gave her neck. "All of Dorne will be cursing my luck. And my brother is delighted to know that our kingdom has been gifted such a princess."

Alys felt herself grow nervous again, butterflies in her stomach. "I will do my best to be a good princess," she promised him.

His gaze was gentle when he kissed and replied to her. "I have complete faith in you, my darling," he promised her. Then he smirked again, bending down to kiss her breast. "But let us put this talk aside, my darling," he insisted. "That we might focus on enjoying our bath and distracting me from the troubles of raising daughters."

"As you wish, Husband."

Soon, Alys was lost in a haze of pleasure caused by her husband's skilled fingers and mouth, forgetting everything as she cried out from the stars that burst behind her eyelids while her husband shot his hips up into her to reach his own release.

* * *

Later on, Alys crossed one leg atop the other to ease the discomfort between her thighs as she smiled politely to the people in front of her. Ghost was laying down beside her chair, and she was pleased to note that the direwolf was calm in their presence. Ygritte had been forced to lie down, the heat having given her a severe headache, so Ser Arron was guarding the door instead.

The woman, a Stony Dornishwoman in her late forties with grey hair was Daena Santager, an aunt to the current head of the House of Santager. She was also the great-aunt to Sylva Santager, one of Princess Arianne's conspirators with her disownment. Her father had been so furious with her that he had married her off to the old Lord Estermont in the Stormlands, disowning her in favour of her cousin due to her actions. Lord Estermont was nearing sixty with four grandchildren and seven children, while Sylva herself was not yet nine-and-ten. Mistress Daena was the Chief Housekeeper for Sunspear.

The first man was Ser Manfrey Martell, Oberyn's second cousin, and the castle's castellan. He looked similar to her husband, but was shorter and not as handsome (in Alys' opinion). He was mid-way between Doran and Oberyn's ages, with a cheerful smile.

The final member of the group was a Salty Dornishman older than Doran, with a milky film over his irises signalling his lack of vision. Ricasso, the seneschal of Sunspear.

"Your Highness," Mistress Santager greeted her politely with a curtsey. "I am honoured to meet you."

"Indeed, Princess," Ser Manfrey added. "And may I just add, as cousin to your husband, what a pleasure it is to know that our family has been blessed with such a lovely young Princess."

"I can't go talking about whether or not you're lovely, I'm afraid," Ricasso chuckled, a hint of a cough in his voice. "But it's good to have a Princess about the castle again. Court's never quite the same without a woman's touch."

"Thank you all, that is very kind," Alys replied with the warmest smile she could manage. Thankfully, while she had not been trained to deal with a household of this size, she had been trained by Lady Adil, an expert chatelaine in the Winter Lands, and Lady Delonne and Lady Myria had been giving her instruction on Sunspear and her duties as its' lady. She was fairly sure she could manage it without being too much of a disaster.

"I just wanted to introduce myself and meet the three of you today," Alys went on. "I'm afraid that my lord and I will be leaving for the capital at the end of the week, but I would like a list of all the servants and who does what as soon as one can be made available, and to meet everybody. And of course, anything you wish to discuss with me in regards to the household, please feel free to do so. And if I'm doing something incorrectly, do say. I was not raised to run a court, I am afraid, though I shall certainly do my best."

Ser Manfrey and Mistress Santager exchanged quick look, while Ricasso cocked his head, looking thoughtful.

"Milady," the housekeeper began carefully. "When you say a list of _all_ the servants, and to meet _everyone_, do you actually mean-?"

"I mean _everyone_," Alys interrupted, inserting a firm note into her tone. "In the North, a lady is expected to personally know all of her servants, and to oversee things being done herself. I know that the South is different, and I have nought but respect for Dornish culture. But more than that, I respect the people of this kingdom. I will meet everybody involved in caring for the castle, and that's the end of it."

They looked surprised and thoughtful, but not displeased with her decision. Alys herself was determined not to budge on the matter. Servants were people too, and Alys' father had not raised her to treat her social inferiors like they were not. She had a responsibility to them, and she would fulfil it, regardless of what anybody thought of it.

Ricasso smiled in the direction of her voice. "I will enjoy working with you, Your Highness," he declared warmly. "It warms my heart to know that we have a Princess who cares so deeply for her people."

Alys felt a bit strained at that. (_Nobles are born to their positions because the Gods trust them to protect those who are weaker than they are, _the dark voice hissed at her. _Yet you neglect your people by ignoring the good you could do for them by announcing your heritage and claiming your rightful place. Craven girl._)

"Everyone, peasant or noble, deserves respect, Ser," Alys replied, hoping her emotions weren't showing. Thankfully, Visenya's journals had revealed a technique to 'muffle' the emotions going through the bond, so Oberyn wouldn't be picking up on her distress. It was tiring, but in the way of using a new muscle. The more you used it, the easier it became. She was about to go on, but she sensed her husband's approach and automatically looked at the door, just as it opened.

Oberyn came strolling in, a slightly-strained smile on his face and several young women and girls following at his heels. The eldest three had neutral, assessing expressions, while one of the girls had a tense jaw and the youngest was blatantly scowling. From their similar features, Alys assumed Oberyn had decided it was time for her to meet the rest of his daughters.

Alys took a deep breath to brace herself and rose to her feet, giving a quick curtsey to her husband and then turning back to the servants, who were rising from their own bows and curtsey. "My thanks, Mistress Santager, Sers. Mistress, if you could arrange for that list to be delivered to me whenever you get the chance, I would greatly appreciate it."

"Of course, Your Highness," the older woman agreed, before they filed out, leaving Alys to meet her stepdaughters.

"Where are the girls?" she asked her husband in a soft voice when he came over to her side, picking up her hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "Arya-"

"Arya is lying down to rest instead of running around exploring, miracle of miracles," he interrupted. "She is less pleased with the heat than you are, I fear. As for Dorea and Loreza, they are greeting their friends, as is Sarella. I thought to introduce you to the rest of my daughters, Wife."

"Of course, my lord husband," Alys agreed, nerves making her stomach clench. The soothing reassurance he sent to her through their link helped, but only slightly.

"Girls," Oberyn turned to the group of young ladies waiting silently for their attention. "This is my new wife and soulmate, Alyssa of House Stark. Alyssa, these are my daughters. Obara, my eldest, then that's Nym, that's Tyene, and these are Elia and Obella."

He pointed to each girl as he said their names, and Alys curtsied to each of them. She found herself resting her hands atop her belly afterwards, as if taking comfort from the babe growing within her.

"I'm so pleased to meet you all," Alys murmured, sure she looked ready to jump off a cliff from worry. What would she do if they all despised her? Oberyn loved his daughters so, Alys had no doubts that their marriage would crumble if his daughters resented her, divinely-ordained or no.

"You're a quiet thing, aren't you?" Obara observed bluntly.

Alys won't sure how to respond to that. "Generally, yes," she confirmed awkwardly, mildly reassured by Oberyn's hands resting on her shoulders in support.

"Well, you can stop looking at us like we're going to murder you in your sleep," Nymeria smirked at her, the same smirk as Oberyn's. "We love Father too much to kill him."

"We've discussed the whole thing," Tyene added. "We're willing to be friends, so long as you don't go trying to lord your position over us."

"I'm not sure what you mean by lording my position over you," Alys replied uncertainly. "But thank you?" She rubbed Ghost's head for reassurance, taking comfort in the softness of her familiar's white fur.

"You're going to need to become more confident if you want to manage court," Obara noted.

"I can deal with strangers," Alys answered with a shrug. "It's when I'm meeting people who will be relevant to my personal life that I get nervous."

Oberyn had been quiet, but he leaned down to press a kiss to the top of her head at that, rubbing her arm soothingly.

"Elia, Obella," he prompted the two quiet ones. "Will you not say hello?" There was a hint of warning in his voice, and evidently his daughters picked up on it.

Elia inhaled and exhaled deeply before forcing an obviously fake smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Princess Alyssa," she greeted her tensely.

"Just Alys, please," Alys requested. "And you also. Your father sings your praises in regards to jousting. I feel that I must warn you, I think my sister plans to beg you to teach her. You will not get a moment's peace, I'm afraid."

Elia's smile became more genuine at that. "What age is your sister? She came with you as a ward, did she not?"

"Arya is nine," Alys replied. "And yes, Father agreed that Dorne's culture would suit Arya better than the rest of, well most of Westeros. Arya hates anything to do with being a lady, and would happily spend all day practicing with her sword."

"Yes, she is very fond of stabbing people," Oberyn noted ruefully. "We have been debating when it is and is not acceptable to do so for several weeks now, and I believe I may be on the verge of convincing her that stabbing somebody for breathing near her is not socially acceptable."

"You're one to talk, Father," Nymeria laughed.

"I am excellently qualified to give advice on a broad range of topics," Oberyn sniffed dramatically. Alys smiled uneasily. Her family was close, but serious. They rarely teased each other. She was still struggling to figure out when Oberyn was or was not being serious, and what would and wouldn't offend him. She was learning to trust him, but she was still wary of making him angry. The bond was a help, but it seemed that, while she would feel his physical sensations more strongly than he would hers, he could feel her emotions more easily and strongly than she could his.

"By the way, Darling," he added, glancing down at her. "I have a gift for you."

"Not another one," Alys protested automatically, forgetting her stepdaughters' presence. "I have more than enough already! What else could I possibly need?"

"Need? Well your tastes are so amazingly simple that I think there is very little that you _need_," he responded, pressing a kiss to her nose. "But you will _like_ this. Besides, it is my right and duty as your husband to spoil you. I will hear no protests."

Abruptly, the atmosphere was disturbed by Obella, who had been quiet the entire time, suddenly turning and running out the door, slamming it shut behind her. Ghost bristled at the sound, and Alys clucked her tongue and petted her to soothe the large wolf, sure that her discomfort was obvious to everyone.

"Damn it," Oberyn sighed.

"I'll speak to her," Elia murmured. "She's just missing Mama, that's all."

"Actually, might I try?" Alys suggested tentatively. "Just to reassure her that I have no intention of taking Lady Ellaria's place."

"Are you certain, Darling?" Oberyn asked, pressing a hand to her stomach. "I don't want you getting upset. In fact, you ought to lie down for a while before the feast."

"You're with child?" Tyene cut in sharply, looking at Alys' stomach.

"Yes," Oberyn confirmed, wrapping an arm around Alys' waist. "Your newest sister will be borne sometime in May of next year."

"Is that alright with you?" Alys asked, one hand touching her belly protectively.

The elder three were quick to agree, apparently delighted. Elia still looked a bit upset, but she smiled and gave her congratulations. Then, Alys again insisted on speaking to Obella. Just in case, she sent Ghost into her and Oberyn's shared bedchamber (apparently, like in the North, couples were expected to share beds in Dorne. If they slept apart, something was wrong.).

Oberyn had evidently figured out what she would and wouldn't be stubborn about something, because he huffed and gave in to her insistence. The others dispersed (Tyene being sent back to her room, as she was apparently still confined), before he escorted her to Obella's room. There, Alys found the nine-year-old sitting cross-legged on her fluffy carpet, a scowl on her face as she drew on a piece of parchment with an angry, hurt air.

"Obella, might I speak with you?" Alys asked softly, poking her head around the door.

The girl didn't reply, so Alys entered and sat down beside her. She decided to treat the girl similarly to Arya when she was in a mood.

"Your father mentioned you like art," Alys murmured. "He boasts so very much of you. And I can see he is unbiased. That is very detailed. The Red Mountains, is it? They look like the tapestry in your uncle's solar."

She nearly called her 'sweetling' as was her habit with Arya, but managed to stop herself. Obella neither replied nor looked at her, continuing to draw with sharp strokes. Alys debated mentioning her own fondness for art, then decided not to. Avoiding the core of the problem never helped.

"Obella, I know that you're upset that your father married me, and that your mother is not here any longer," she said finally. "And I know that your family would prefer if Lady Ellaria were here instead of me. I don't blame you at all. Tis a very unfair situation, for everyone involved."

Alys had no doubt, that while her husband was fond of her, if he could trade her for his late lover he would. He was probably more pleased about the beneficial marriage alliance and coming babe than anything else. Still, it could have been far worse.

"I'm not going to try to take your mother's place, Obella," Alys promised. The girl finally turned to look at her, expression almost neutral. The teary eyes gave her sorrow away, however.

"You're Father's soulmate," Obella pointed out miserably. "So he loved you more than anybody else in his last life. Even more than Mama, or us."

Alys frowned at that. "I thought that it was the person who _meant_ the most, not loved the most," she stated.

Obella looked confused. "That's the same thing."

"No, it isn't," Alys disagreed. "It just means that I was very important to him in some way. That doesn't mean he was in love with me. And even if it was so, just because he loved me most in his _last_ life, doesn't mean he'll love me most in _this_ life. That place belongs firmly to his daughters and their mother, I am afraid."

Obella looked thoughtful at that.

"Obella, may I ask you for something?" Alys leaned in a bit.

"Okay," Obella agreed slowly. "But I'm not promising anything."

"Of course not," Alys agreed. "Has your father told you that I'm with child?"

"No," Obella started to frown again, so Alys went on quickly.

"Well, in the North there is a tradition of godparents. A godparent is responsible for looking after and protecting a child if their parents cannot. And I was hoping that you would agree to be godmother to your newest little sibling. Would you do that?"

"Me?" Obella's eyes shone with excitement. "Really? Not Obara or Nym, or Tyene or Sarella or even Elia? You want me to do it?"

"I do," Alys promised. "Will you? It's very important. You'll have to make sure that your father and I are raising the babe properly, and that they're healthy and cared for."

"I will," Obella promised. Her sullen mood had disappeared and she was bursting with pride. "I promise, I'll be the best godmother ever. I'll take really good care of my little sister, I will!"

"I know you will," Alys agreed. She smiled brightly at Obella, even as her thoughts lingered on the word 'sister'. She wasn't a greenseer, she'd been tested like every child of the North was upon turning five. But the dream kept repeating: a pair of twins with her eyes and their father's colouring, one a serious young boy and the other a laughing little girl.


	20. Robb 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT. Explanation for the Honourable House, Ancient and Honourable Houses, etc, on the Background Info. **

**Read, enjoy and review!**

**Chapter Nineteen**

**Robb 2**

_**Winterfell: 30**__**th**__** September, 297 After Conquest**_

Winterfell felt empty without his sisters' laughter and cheerful voices to brighten its' suddenly-dark halls. Of course, Sansa and Bran still remained, but not for long. Soon enough, Sansa would be heading to Bear Island, to foster with their most loyal bannermen.

Lord Jorah Mormont was the current Lord of Bear Island, and had been since his father, Jeor, had joined the Night's Watch. Jorah was married to Lynesse Hightower, who had proven to be as fertile as she was beautiful and expensive to maintain. They had been married twenty years now, and together they'd had twelve children, of which ten still lived. The youngest was only a year older than Bran.

Lady Lynesse herself was not Robb's favourite person, but she wasn't awful either. And she would be a good mentor for Sansa, as Lady Mormont was known throughout the North for her skills in being a hostess. And Lord Jorah's aunt, Lady Maege and her remaining children and two grandchildren at the Island (her eldest, Dacey, was married to Uncle Benjen of course. And her third daughter, Lyra, had gone with Alys to Dorne.) would also be of help to Sansa.

Sansa was able enough with her knife, but Robb would be more comfortable if she had more skill in self-defence. Her Warg Guard, Sarra Locke, wasn't invincible. Robb never wanted to hear that one of his sisters had nearly been murdered, or worse, ever again. Lady Maege would ensure that Sansa could protect herself if Sarra could not.

And then after his next nameday, Bran too would be going off to foster, and Robb would be left alone. He frowned glumly at the snow covering the ground of the godswood, feeling miserable for himself and dearly wishing for Alys' comforting presence. She always made him cheer up when feeling down. Of course, he wouldn't be feeling so unhappy if Alys were here anyway, so it was a moot point.

Greywind let out an unhappy whimper, butting Robb's leg as he sensed his master's depressed mood. Automatically, Robb reached out to scratch his direwolf between the ears. His raven, Talon, was perched on his shoulder. At least he still had his familiars, Robb mused to himself. They would never leave him.

Greywind's head snapped around towards the godswood's entrance, just before the crunching of snow beneath two pairs of boots announced a couple's approach. A moment later, a pretty young maiden around Robb's age and a young man a little over came in. From their similar features, Robb assumed that they were siblings. Siblings who weren't separated by weeks' worth of travel. His already-sour mood worsened, even as he prepared himself to exchange polite words with the pair. He couldn't show weakness, not when he was the future leader of the North.

They started in surprise at the sight of Robb and his animal companions, hastily preforming obeisance. "My magnar, our apologies!" the boy exclaimed. "We did not intend to interrupt your prayers! We can leave if you wish."

"No, no," Robb waved that off. "The godswood is open to all of the faithful. But, forgive me, I do not recognize you?"

"I am Cley Cerwyn, Magnar Robb," the heir to Castle Cerwyn introduced himself. "This is my younger sister, Jonelle."

"Magnar Robb," she curtsied, smiling at him gently. "I am honoured to meet you."

"And I you," Robb replied with a slight bow. "I take it that your family is here for the Courts?"

The Courts were a vital and regular part of Winter Lander life. Smallfolk and Quality alike travelled from as far away as the Three Sisters, somebody (or a group of somebodies) representing every village and keep in the Starks' lands. The Courts were where the commons could present any complaints or problems to the Stark of Winterfell, and the nobles would spend their time giving reports on their own lands, the readiness of their troops, discussing problems or needs for the coming Winter, etc. The different sections of the army and the Scholars also came, to give their own reports to Winterfell. Everything could be sent by letter when Court wasn't in session, of course. But it was seen as preferable to give a personal report, with others around to suggest solutions if the Magnar and complaintant could not.

They happened twice yearly in general, and the next session was due to start on the morrow. For the first time in his life, Robb would be helping his father with it. Last time, he had been a moon too young to attend.

"We are, my magnar," Cley Cerwyn confirmed. "We arrived just a few hours ago. I assume that you will be attending? Will you be helping to conduct the proceedings?"

Robb straightened up, squaring his shoulders. "I will be, yes," he confirmed. He tried to hide his anxiety about it.

He knew that people judged him more than his uncle Brandon had been judged, or his grandfather Rickard, etc. They had all had the dark hair and grey eyes of the Starks, and no Seven worshipping mother. Lord Karstark had been blunt, sitting Robb down the day he had arrived at Karhold to begin his fosterage and telling him that there were a lot of whispers going around about whether or not Robb was even a Stark. However hard a regular Stark heir had to work to prove himself to his people, Robb would have to try thrice as hard to prove that he could live up to the eight-thousand-year-old dynasty of the Starks, if he wanted to rule as Warden of the North one day.

Jonelle opened her mouth to say something, but then caught sight of Talon. "Is that your raven?" she asked, admiration clear in her tone. "How lovely! A male, right?"

"Yes," Robb blinked in surprise. He couldn't help the pride that tinged his tone as he continued. "This is Talon, my secondary familiar. Greywind, my direwolf, is my primary one, of course. Though I warged with Talon first." It had been the happiest day of his life, the day he had truly proven to all his doubters that he was a Stark, despite the Tully blood in his vein. Sll Lords of Winterfell and their heirs were able to bond with both a bird and a direwolf. Heirs had been disowned in favour of siblings or cousins for failing to do so. Bonding with his two familiars had shown that, despite his unfortunate maternal lineage and the doubts regarding his legitimacy in the Winter Lands, Robb was still a Stark.

"Is it true that you were ten when you warged with your raven for the first time?" Cley asked eagerly. "I've always wanted to be a warg."

"Me too," Jonelle sighed wistfully. "To connect with animals! It must be the most wonderful feeling, is it not?"

Robb grinned and nodded. "It is," he confirmed. There was no feeling better than joining his mind to Greywind's, racing through the wolfswood on a hunt, or warging with Talon and flying through air. Freedom was found in the minds of his companions.

"May I touch them?" Jonelle asked eagerly.

"Go ahead," Robb agreed. "Lord Cley, you can as well."

The siblings grinned, delighted when the animals consented to be petted. Jonelle glowed with pride when Greywind went so far as to rub his head against her side affectionately, as good as saying that she had a pure soul. Cley puffed up with pride for his sister at the sight.

"I love animals," Jonelle confessed. "Father quite despairs of me, because I rather be in the fields playing with the dogs or tending the horses to sewing."

"My sister, Alys, loves animals as well," Robb said wistfully, his previous melancholy beginning to return. "Especially horses and, of course, the wolves. I swear, it's like she can speak to them."

"I'm sorry," Cley told him solemnly. He wrapped an arm around his sister's shoulders. "Nelle's my best friend. We're only eleven months apart. I dread the day Father decides it's time for her to be wed. I don't know what I'll do without her. It's an honour for your sister, of course. But I can't imagine how difficult it must be for you."

"Thank you," Robb replied, slightly hoarsely. "I mean, if anyone was going to be Marked for greatness, it would be Alys. She's amazing. But the whole reason we were negotiating for her to marry Torrhen Karstark was because she'd be nearby. Now, she's all the way in Dorne with Arya, and I worry for her. The South, you know?"

"I know," Cley grimaced. "Poor Magnara, marrying a burner! But I heard that she's able to continue following the Old Gods?"

"Aye, and I suppose the man could be a lot worse," Robb agreed grudgingly. "But I'm inclined to hate him on principal, for taking my sister away."

"Just because she's married, doesn't mean that she isn't still your sister," Jonelle added, smiling sympathetically at him. "And to be Marked! Can you ask for a greater honour for her?"

"I know that," Robb sighed. Bouyed by the pair's sympathy, he began confessing to them what he had previously only spoken to his familiars of. Greywind and Talon, while excellent listeners, weren't the best when it came to actually giving him advice for what to do. "But I still don't like it. We've never been apart before. And from her letters, I get the impression that she's starting to like the man a lot. And, okay, yes it's good that she's comfortable with him. I'd hate for her to be miserable all her life. But it feels like he's stealing her, and I resent that. Dorne is so far away."

They nodded, matching brown eyes wide with understanding. Jonelle reached out to grab his hand and rub his knuckles.

"She'll always be your sister," Jonelle insisted. "And every lady deserves her own household and family. Don't think of it as losing your sister, but as gaining more pack."

Robb looked at her, taking in the girl. Jonelle Cerwyn was not about to win any awards for beauty. She was rather plain, with dark brown, straight hair pulled back in a braid, and honey brown eyes. She was short and a bit on the plump side, with rosy cheeks. But there was a kind air about her that made him smile.

"Dinner should be served soon," Robb stated. "May I escort you both back? You could join me at the high table, and I could tell you more about warging."

Their expressions lit up with delight.

"We'd be honoured, my magnar," Cley accepted for the both of them.

"Please, call me Robb," Robb replied, offering his arm to Jonelle and leading them back towards the keep.

* * *

_**Winterfell: 1**__**st**__** October, 297 After Conquest**_

The Great Hall was crowded with various lords, ladies and heirs. The first day of the Commons' Courts session for the day had ended half an hour previously, and after a short break to eat, Robb and his father had returned to the hall to meet with their bannermen.

The full session lasted a week, with each day split into thirds. The first third was for the Commons, the second for the Lords and the third for the representatives of the different sections of the Army and Scholars. Each part of the Courts lasted several hours with a half-an-hour for the Starks to rest and the people to leave and arrive between each.

Magnar Eddard sat on the weirwood chair (not the ancient Weirwood Throne, which Torrhen Stark had put away in the Vault after pledging his fealty to the Conqueror). He had a regal, in control aura that Robb envied. His father, the Stalking Wolf of the North, was greatly respected and a brilliant Warden of the North. He had led his people well, despite never being prepared for the role properly. Robb feared he would never live up to the man, though he was determined to try.

Robb himself sat on a smaller chair made of oak, two steps down from his father. He tried to appear calmly confident, like his father, but suspected he was failing. Talon was perched on the back of his chair and Greywind was draped over Robb's feet. Magnar Stark's own raven, Serene, was resting on Father's shoulder while Twilight sat up straight beside him, observing the gathering with intelligent eyes.

"I hereby call this session of the Quality Courts to order!" the Magnar called, slamming his fist against the drum beside him. The echo of the boom instantly quieted the conversing lords and ladies, who promptly devoted their attention to their liege.

"We shall open the session with any betrothal, birth, fostering or death announcements!" Magnar Stark (and it was definitely Magnar Stark, stern and cold, not Father, comforting and encouraging.) ordered.

Lord Bolton stepped forward first. "My magnar," the man called. "If I may begin?"

"The Courts recognize the Honourable and Most Ancient House of Bolton," Robb's father agreed.

The North didn't stand much on ceremony, save for this. Without strict discipline, the Courts were liable to dissolve into bitter feuding and arguments over ancient slights. All their bannermen were brutally honest and fiercely loyal, but the North Remembered and feuds could be vicious. For example, the Forresters and Whitehills were still holding a grudge against each other for a daughter of the Whitehills being seduced and abandoned by a Forrester. Seven centuries ago.

"I am pleased to announce the betrothal of my son and heir, Domeric, to Lady Alys of House Karstark. With your approval, my lord, the marriage will take place three moons from now."

"Have the greenseers approved the match?" Magnar Eddard asked, though only for ceremony's sake. Nobody would ever go so far without checking that the Gods approved. Twould be an awful scandal if the couple were unblessed when they went before the heart tree.

"They have, Magnar," Lord Karstark confirmed, his eldest son Harrion at his side.

"Then approval is granted," Magnar Stark responded. "Anybody else?"

There were several more: House Hornwood had a newborn daughter whom they'd named Alyssa in honour of the Blessed daughter of their liege (no doubt only the first of many namesakes for his sister), Greatjon Umber's son Smalljon was betrothed to Marine Mormont, one of Lord Jorah and Lady Lynesse's four daughters. The heir to House Tallhart was going to foster with the Whitehills. Lord Orian Torrent of Littlesister had died and his place was now held by his son, Alesander, among other announcements.

"I am also pleased to announce, my loyal bannermen," Magnar Stark stated when the bannermen had finished. "That my daughter, Sansa, is to foster for a period of at least two years with Lady Lynesse Mormont at Bear Island."

There was yet more clapping, before the air of the room turned serious. They all knew what came next.

"We will now begin with the reports of the Winter Supply Survey!" Magnar Stark decreed. "I am pleased to announce, my people, that the marriage contract of my daughter, the Magnara Alyssa, will bring us in certain fruits and vegetables from Dorne during the Winter. As Dorne's agricultural output is unaffected by the change in seasons, we will have a steady supply of such things throughout the Winter."

The news caused a cheer from the gathered nobles, all delighted to hear it. Then Lord Bolton stepped forward, bowing. He looked as grim as always. Lord Roose was a loyal, dutiful man. It was a shame his bastard had not inherited his father's honour. Much as Robb loathed Ramsay Snow, he pitied the fact that his son's execution had damaged the man's standing so badly. People might not have known about the assault on Alys, but they knew Bolton's bastard had committed a crime that had cost him his life. And they knew that Alys had been the one to swing the sword, too. It wasn't hard for them to put two-and-two together and get four.

"My liege, if I may?"

"The Court recognizes the Honourable and Most Ancient Lord of Bolton," Magnar Stark repeated with a nod, granting Bolton leave to speak. The man did so with a grim look.

"I am pained to say, my fellows, that the protection runes on my glasshouses were damaged. Prior to a greenseer being able to come and fix them, a storm destroyed the house, taking with it all of the food growing there. A full years' supply for my lands has been lost."

Faces hardened and several swears were uttered.

"This is grave news indeed, Lord Bolton," Magnar Stark sighed. "A greenseer will be dispatched to fix the glasshouse, along with some supplementary supplies if possible.

We have had, lords and ladies, ten years of Summer. As we all know well, the Gods demand a price for such things. I have been in consult with the greenseers, and they predict this coming Winter will be double the length of Summer, and come within the next year."

"My Magnar, may I?" It was Lord Torrhen Whitewolf who stepped forward.

"The Courts recognize the Honourable Lord of Whitewolf," the Magnar nodded curtly.

"Is it true, my liege, that the greenseers see a war? That they," here even the war-hardened veteran of Robert's and the Greyjoy Rebellions faltered. "That they see the Wall falling under an onslaught of White Walkers? Is it true that your daughter, the Blessed Magnara Alyssa and her Marked husband were Chosen by the Gods because of this?"

The temperature in the room seemed to drop by a hundred degrees. Robb couldn't keep his eyes from going wide. He'd known that the greenseers were Seeing many different futures with war. So many it seemed inevitable that the banners would be called before Winter's end. But the Wall _falling_? The White Walkers, whom the North had held at bay for many millennia, _crossing_ the Wall? And Alys, his sweet and gentle sister, _fighting_ them?

He looked at his father with as panicked an expression as the rest of the audience. Everyone was staring at the Lord of the Winter Lands with bated breath, hoping he would deny it.

Their hopes would not be fulfilled.

Magnar Stark wore a defeated look as he met his bannermens' eyes. "Aye," he confirmed. "The greenseers See the Night King awakening again in several futures. And should he do so, he will gather an army and lead it against the living, in order to crush all Life.

Should that future come to fruition, it will be up to us, my lords and ladies, as the loyal followers of the Old Faith, to once again take up arms and defend the Living from the Dead. And my daughter will lead us in doing so."


	21. Varys 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT. Thanks to everybody reviewing, faving, etc. this story. Please continue to read, enjoy and review! **

**Chapter Twenty**

**Varys One**

_**King's Landing: 15**__**th**__** October, 297 After Conquest**_

The Master of Whispers melded easily with the crowd gathered on the streets, all eagerly waiting to glimpse the arrival of the first Bonded couple in almost a century. None of them realized that they would getting their first sight of the rightful Queen Regnant and King Consort of the Seven Kingdoms at the same time. No one save Varys, at any rate.

It had been easy to put the pieces together back in 283, when the honourable and family-loving Eddard Stark had returned from Dorne with his sister dead of a fever and a newborn babe with in his arms.

Varys had feared that somebody would put the pieces together and seek to assassinate the infant Queen, but thankfully no one had done so. The Spider had been loathe to let his new queen be taken out of reach, as he well knew the impossibility of getting any little birds into Winterfell, but he had known it was for the best. The same impenetrable security that frustrated his birds so would also double as protection for the Queen.

So he had ensured that Magnar Stark took his niece/adoptive daughter safely North, while Varys had gotten to work spreading a dozen different rumours, each backed by multiple witnesses, to obscure the matter of Queen Alysanne's heritage.

For example, Lord Godric Borrell of Sweetsister claimed that, when the young Magnar had passed through the Three Sisters and ordered them to call their banners while he went North to gather the rest, Eddard Stark had left a babe in the belly of the daughter of the fisherman who'd taken him to there. A whore in the Riverlands insisted that her dear, deceased friend Sera, who had been a blonde doppelganger for the late and much-lamented Ashara Dayne, had died birthing Stark's daughter. Those were only a few of the stories Varys had spread.

Someone else had spread a rumour that the girl was Brandon Stark's get instead of Eddard's, and that Eddard had called his niece his daughter to prevent a struggle over the North's rulership, but Varys had squashed that one quickly. It was too similar to reality to allow it to gain traction, least someone start doing maths and realize the obvious.

He was still amazed nobody else had put the pieces together, or had stayed silent if they had figured it out. Of course, not a lot of people had known the reason for Rhaegar's obsession with having three daughters outside his close circle, or about the 'song of ice and fire'. Nor had anybody known of the lady's pregnancy, or how she had been forced at swordpoint by Ser Gerold Hightower to make marriage vows to Rhaegar.

Thankfully, while the idiot High Septon who'd written the dispensation for Rhaegar to take a second wife was dead, he had written in his diary of what he'd done, providing more evidence for when Queen Alysanne took the throne. Varys had it hidden away with some other things that could be used to prove Her Grace's heritage when she made her claim.

And she would have to take the throne eventually. The sole male claimant was dead, and even as a child Viserys had shown clear signs of the coin landing on the side of insanity. Princess Daenarys' marriage had ensured that no Westerosi would ever bow to her, and Illyrio had written that she showed signs of being susceptible to the influence of men who flattered her in the right way. A puppet ruler would do no good for the realm. And Illyrio's suggestion of using Maelys the Monstrous' young grandson through his daughter Erena was pure stupidity. Yes, the boy could be groomed to act the part, but the deceased Prince Aegon had borne a distinctive birthmark in the shape of a hand on his ankle. Many had known and seen it, including Prince Oberyn. All they'd have to do was ask to see it to prove he was an imposter. The attempt would infuriate the Dornish, and Westeros would not bend the knee to a foreign usurper.

But letting Cersei's bastard take the Iron Throne after his stepfather was not an option either. The boy was as mad and sadistic as Aerys, at half the age. And he had no claim to the throne at all. At least the Baratheons had intermarried with the Targaryens several times, so Robert Baratheon did have a claim, if not a strong one.

Then there was Alysanne, the only surviving trueborn child of the Silver Prince, still well-loved by many despite his foolish actions with Magnara Lyanna. Alysanne had much less chance of inheriting the madness that tainted her paternal line, and the Starks were nigh-on worshipped by their people, with a strong army to aid them. The First Men taught that nobles were born into their positions because the Old Gods had entrusted them with the sacred duty of protecting those unable to shield themselves. That had instilled a nearly-fanatical sense of duty in the Stark line, one that Varys was hoping Magnar Eddard had passed onto his niece/adoptive child also.

Varys had high hopes for the Queen, given what he had been learning of her character. She had only spent a week at Sunspear between arriving from the North and coming to King's Landing, but she was respectful and kind to everyone, servant or noble. Prince Doran had announced that she would be overseeing the establishment of a school system similar to the one in the Winter Lands, with the help of Lady Sarella. His spies' report also stated that she seemed quite intelligent, though unskilled with politics. She was apparently having lessons, however, and had a good poker face.

Learning of the Queen's Marking and how quickly she had gotten with child (something that had quickly spread through Sunspear despite the lack of formal announcement) had been both a blessing and a curse.

It was a blessing because it brought Dorne to her side and the Marks were revered everywhere. The Marks automatically boosted her reputation and claim as she was blessed by the Gods, and having an heir and good fertility when she took the Iron Throne would also help her. And the Red Viper had his own claim to the Iron Throne, meaning their babe would have Targaryen blood on _both _sides of their family, furthering strengthening their cause.

But did the Gods have to bind the true Queen of Westeros to _Oberyn Martell_ of all people?

The good side was that Oberyn was not the type of man who forced his wife to submit to him. The report from Varys' little birds in Dorne said that he tended to let her do whatever she liked, as long as she had a guard. That, combined with being from Dorne, a place where both men and women could inherit, meant that he was unlikely to try and usurp his wife's place as ruler.

But he was unpredictable and uncontrollable, with a tendency to act without thinking when enraged. Working with him would be difficult, to say the least. And of course, there was the matter of heirs.

Neither Queen Rhaenrya nor her successors had ever changed the law of succession to match Dorne. Rhaenrya had been the sole Queen Regnant of the Seven Kingdoms in all of history, and her reign had only lasted a year after the Dance before she'd been killed. Varys was confident that Queen Alysanne would be supported as she was the best option and Marked, but many would be uneasy with a woman ruling. She needed a son to have an uncontested heir.

The Viper had a gaggle of daughters, but not a boy to be found among them. Out of desperation, Varys had even done a search for any boys borne and hidden by their mothers to keep the Viper from taking custody of them, but so far he'd found nothing.

Varys could only hope that the Gods would realize how vital it was for the Queen to have a male successor, and made the babe growing in her belly a son. He regularly prayed to the Old Gods (for he was in fact a follower of the First Men, not the Seven or even godless, as some believed him to be. Varys believed in what he saw, and he had seen the Old Gods at work many times.) but he could do nothing else to affect that.

For now, Varys focused on the things that he _could_ control. That consisted of boosting Prince Oberyn's reputation, to ensure he would be welcomed as King Consort when the Queen took the Iron Throne.

It had proven easier than expected. Outside of his own kingdom, the smallfolk didn't know much about the Red Viper of Dorne. But the Mark had made his and Queen Alysanne's names known everywhere from Hardhome to Essos. Thankfully, the smallfolk were easy to convince of Prince Oberyn and 'Princess Alyssa's' goodness and honour.

After all, the gods would not Mark sinners, would they? Any tales that contradicted this view was dismissed as lies and slander spread by enemies of the pair who were jealous of how the Gods had favoured the couple.

The nobles of Westeros were not so simple.

Many of them had encountered the Red Viper personally, and their automatic disdain for both the Dornish and the Winter Landers automatically made them look down their noses at the couple. On the other hand, they were taught to revere Marked couples, and anyone with a shred of political sense had to be able to see which way the wheel was turning. That being said, it was a struggle for them to reconcile their religious beliefs with their belief that the North and Dornish were all savages.

But in general, religion was stronger than almost anything. Save for the desire for power. And Marked couples had a great deal of power.

Varys had it on good authority that Olenna Tyrell had decided that it would be better for her family to have her granddaughter marry Prince Quentyn instead of Joffrey Baratheon, despite her loathing of the Viper for crippling her favoured grandson and desire for a royal descendant. Melessa Hightower née Tarly née Florent and her husband Lord Baelor Hightower had sent a message offering to betrothe Melessa's son Samwell, Lord Tarly, to Sarella Sand, as had several other couples with the various Sand Snakes. The only thing that had some of them hesitating was the Sand Snakes' bastardy. Varys didn't doubt that hesitation wouldn't last long, however.

Without even knowing it, the Queen and her husband were helping Varys' work even as he watched. They had been riding, but the crowd that gathered to see the Bondmates was so thick they struggled to move their horses forward. The crowd was yelling deafeningly, calling blessings down on the pair, asking for the couple to bless the children they thrust towards them, crying out praise and flinging flowers at them.

As Varys watched, Queen Alysanne leaned over to whisper to her husband. He replied with a shake of the head, but she evidently ignored him, because a moment later she had slipped off her horse and taken out her purse, starting to walk through the crowd to hand out money and press her palm gently to children's heads in blessing while yet more flowers were draped over her. Her redhaired guard was at her heels, as was her large direwolf that butted affectionately at the hands of eager children. The young lady spoke to many with a warm smile and musical voice. Meanwhile, Prince Oberyn was quick to dismount and hurry to his wife's side, grudgingly joining her as it became clear she would walk all the way to the Red Keep to ensure she could accept and return the smallfolk's well-wishes. Without even knowing it, she had just made herself into another 'Good Queen Alysanne', though the Viper was certainly no Jaehaerys the Wise.

Varys slipped away, leaving his true sovereign to give her guards heart attacks by mingling shamelessly among the smallfolk while he hurried to return to the Red Keep to be with the court when she arrived.

* * *

_**The Red Keep**_

The Queen and her entourage must really _have _walked to the castle, possibly stopping several times for conversations that Varys would have to learn of, from the length of time it took for the party to reach the Red Keep.

Everybody was getting impatient, and on the Iron Throne, King Robert banged a meaty fist against one of the swords that made up the chair.

"Where are the damn Dornish, Jon?" he barked at the Hand. "Ser Barristan went to bring them to the keep over four hours ago! It doesn't take that bloody long to get here from the harbour!"

"I cannot answer that, Your Grace," Lord Arryn sighed.

"I can, if Your Grace would allow me," Varys called in a simpering tone, stepping forward and bowing to the Usurper King.

"Well?" Baratheon demanded. "Where are they? Damn Dornish. Fucking loyalists are probably being late just to insult me!"

Several other loyalists pursed their lips or made other signs of their dissatisfaction with the monarch's rudeness. Lord Arryn failed to hide a wince.

"Not so, Your Grace," Varys denied with an irritating chuckle. "The smallfolk are curious about the newest Favoured Ones of the Gods. They have the streets nearly completely blocked. I expect Their Highnesses' party is having difficulty in getting to the castle, Your Grace."

Baratheon grunted, scowling and turning to speak to Lord Arryn again. He was interrupted by the door opening and the herald entering and bowing lowly.

"Their Royal Highnesses, Prince Oberyn of House Nymeros Martell and his Marked wife, Princess Alyssa, Magnara of House Stark!" the man called out, just as the couple entered the throne room, Queen Alysanne's arm tucked into her husband's elbow.

They made a regal-looking pair, Varys noted in pleasure. Whatever the Viper's flaws, he was an expert at dressing as the prince he was.

Prince Oberyn was dressed in a Dornish-styled coat that clung to his body until his waist, where it flared out to reach his knees. It was a burnished gold colour, and the top was open to reveal that he wore a dark orange shirt beneath it, as well a pair of dark brown breeches tucked into his polished black knee-high boots. All of it was clearly made of the finest silk. The coat was held closed by a brown leather belt from which his sword hung, its hilt shaped similarly to a lunging viper. A wedding gift from his wife, apparently. A gold chain of links was wrapped loosely around his neck and he wore a wooden bracelet on his left wrist, the white weirwood contrasting nicely with his dark skin.

Only a follower of the Old Gods would understand the meaning of the bracelet, and one of his little birds in Dorne had written a letter describing the Marriage Bracelets of the Queen and her Consort, so Varys was confident that they wouldn't reveal the Queen's secret.

Queen Alysanne was also dressed in a manner that was regal enough to convey her status as a member of the two most high-ranking of the Iron Throne's vassals, whilst also being simple in a way that went well with the gentle soul and sweet nature that Varys' little birds had described her as having.

She wore a Dornish-styled dress of gentle yellow, though it was more conservative than typical for that region, with a gauzy shawl in the same colour though a darker shade draped around her arms. Her jewellery was simple, consisting of her Marriage Bracelet, a gold ring shaped like a snake with ruby eyes on her left hand, and a pair of gold studs piercing her earlobes.

"Lyanna!" Robert gasped in shock at the sight of her. His typically ruddy face went pale with shock and he jolted up from the Iron Throne, staring at the new Princess of Dorne in shock.

Varys pursed his lips, maintaining a composed demeanour even as he subtly scanned the crowd to see their reactions.

Tywin Lannister wore a blank expression, but his eyes had darkened in anger. Queen Cersei looked infuriated by her husband's actions, though she struggled to hide it. Prince Tommen and Princess Myrcella looked bemused, while Prince Joffrey looked bored and clearly wasn't paying attention to any of the proceedings. Probably thinking about skinning another cat, little psychopath that he was. Lord Arryn had briefly looked stricken at the sight of the Princess and the King's reaction to her appearance, but now wore a polite smile, clearly thinking at a thousand miles an hour to figure out how much damage this was going to cause and how to mitigate it.

In truth, Varys pitied the Hand. He worked himself to death struggling to protect his foster-son's position and rule the realm, so busy that he didn't even realize that his wife was carrying on an affair with the Master of Coin or that his only 'son' didn't have a drop of shared blood with him.

At least Denys Arryn had miraculously survived his injuries from the Battle of the Bells. If he had died, then the Vale would've been left without any true heirs and inevitably plunged into chaos. Instead, Denys had lived and had three surviving daughters with his wife, Lady Alysanne Waynwood. And there was still hope for a boy, though the Vale had been ruled by women several times when needed. While the revelation of Robert Stone's true parentage would inevitably cause turmoil in the Vale, hopefully Denys would be able to keep it from outright civil war.

It was the reaction of the Bondmates to Baratheon that interested Varys the most. He was certain that most people would assume that Oberyn was pleased with his young Northern wife purely for her beauty and the fact that he could rub the fact that he was married to Lyanna Stark's doppelganger in King Robert's face. According to Varys' little birds in Dorne, however, the Prince was genuinely fond of and affectionate towards his young wife, who also seemed happy enough with her husband. Therefore, Varys was unsurprised to spot the rage flashing across the Viper's expression. Queen Alysanne herself looked stricken for a fraction of a moment before her polite, gentle smile regained its place as she curtsied.

"Your Grace is very kind, to mistake me for my aunt, who's beauty all praise," she said to the King in a demure, musical voice after rising. "I am Princess Alyssa Martell, Magnara of House Stark."

"My wife," the Viper added in a purr, wrapping an arm around his wife's slim waist and pulling her closer to his side, as he shamelessly ran a hand over her curves, ignoring her cheeks tinting a delicate pink in embarrassment at his actions. "Truly, the Gods have blessed me, have they not? To gift me with such a fair and lovely bride. She is truly a gift, and skilled in so _many_ things."

Robert was still stunned, and apparently didn't notice the innuendo, though Her Grace's flush darkened. "Aye," the King croaked, still staring wide-eyed at Alysanne. He was obviously oblivious to the strain around her eyes when he blatantly ran his eyes over her hourglass figure.

"And I see that we are to congratulate you twice-over, Your Highnesses," Queen Cersei called out, her eyes shooting daggers towards the young princess. "Or am I incorrect in saying that the Princess is with child? And merely four moons into your marriage. How, _fortunate_ for you."

"What?" the King barked. "With child? Already? Surely not!"

"Indeed, Your Grace," Prince Oberyn smirked at them both, his hands leaving his wife's waist to rest on her stomach. "Mine wife is indeed carrying my newest child. We look forward to our babe's arrival with great expectations."

"Indeed, the Gods are very gracious," Princess Alyssa agreed. She was resting her hand atop her husband's wrist, as if trying to restrain him. Varys wished her great luck in convincing the Red Viper not to be a fool. If anything could prove her a miracle, it would be that.

"You have the Crown's most pleased congratulations, Your Highnesses," Lord Arryn hastily interceded before the rapidly-reddening King could blurt out something that mortally damaged the remnants of his relationship with Dorne and the Winter Lands. "Truly, the Gods are most kind. To celebrate your arrival and wedding, and now also this wonderful news, we have arranged for a feast this evening. I trust Your Highnesses will attend with your party?"

The Prince pursed his lips, glancing down at his silent wife, who looked up at him silently. Varys wondered if they could speak through their minds, the way some soulmates were rumoured to have done.

"We would be honoured," the Viper finally agreed, his expression as flat as his tone. "However, mine wife is unused to so much travel, and of course, my primary concern is her health and that of our babe's. We will likely retire early for her to rest."

The king looked like he was about to say something, no doubt something idiotic and offensive given his history when it came to talking, but Lord Arryn spoke first.

"Of course, of course. The health and safety of your wife and child must come first. No offense will be taken should you decide to leave the feast early."

"Excellent," Prince Oberyn drawled. "I would so loathe to offend the king," he sneered and ran a hand over his wife's rump blatantly, making Robert's face turn from dark red to purple. "If we have ended our greetings, I would have my party retire to freshen up for the feast."

"You're dismissed," the king grunted. As the Dornish turned for the door, he called out to the young Princess. "Magnara Ly-Alyssa. I would have you sit next to me as my guest of honour at the tourney."

It was evident in the politically-inexperienced Princess' eyes that spending time around the drunken king her husband loathed so much was the last thing she wanted. Prince Oberyn looked a true snake right then, glaring at King Robert as if he were about to lunge at him and rip his throat out right there in the throne room. Queen Cersei flushed bright red, and the Dornish looked insulted at the social faux pas of ignoring the Princess' title as if she were unmarried.

Despite of all of that, Alyssa could hardly say no to the king's invitation, could she? She gave another polite, demure smile and curtsied.

"I would be honoured, Your Grace," she accepted, making him beam widely.

Apparently he was stupid enough to think she wasn't lying through her teeth.

Her husband's grip was tight and possessive as he pulled his wife out of the throne room, and Varys suspected the Viper would make sure his wife bore visible reminders of whom she belonged to when she next appeared.

Varys pursed his lips in thought as he left the throne room. Unsurprisingly, everyone was discussing the new Princess and the king's actions. Varys himself made a mental note to ensure that there was no chance of the Viper poisoning Robert during his stay. The man would need to die sooner rather than later, of course. But they needed to wait until Dorne had built their navy and trained sailors for it. For the Queen to deliver (with the Gods' help) a healthy son. The realm was not yet ready for war.

Soon, however, Queen Alysanne would be the one that Varys bowed to. She was the best choice for the safety of the realm, and that was all Varys cared about in life. Protecting Westeros.


	22. Oberyn 5

**Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT. Mild lemons. The Lady Barbrey mentioned in this chapter is NOT Barbrey Dustin, just shares her name.**

**Chapter Twenty-One**

**Oberyn Five**

_**The Red Keep: **__**15**__**th**__** October, 297 After Conquest**_

Oberyn was seething with rage as they entered their quarters.

Their household was already hard at work securing their rooms. Ghost was sniffing about the place as Arrow fluttered around. Anywhere they paused, Ygritte checked. From the state of the place, they had already discovered several spy-holes and a secret passageway.

Usually, Oberyn would be amazed at the animals' intelligence.

Not now, however. Right now, he was struggling to keep from grabbing his spear and shoving it through the neck of the fat whoremonger who had so openly gawped at _Oberyn's soulmate_, his _wife_, making her uncomfortable and insulting Dorne by addressing her with her maiden title.

He tugged Alyssa straight past the rest of their party, leaving them to settle in as he pulled her into the bedchamber and promptly pushed her onto the bed as he kicked the door closed.

Alys let out a slight 'omph!' as she landed on the mattress, while Oberyn straddled her and began kissing her fiercely, while at the same time pulling her dress from her. He ignored the sound of it tearing as he pulled it off her, his own clothes joining it soon after.

Alyssa was _his_ wife. The other half of his soul. She belonged to _Oberyn_, and Oberyn alone. Oberyn did not share, especially not with the fat brute who'd spat on his niece and nephew's corpses and called them dragonspawn.

The Usurper had no right to even breathe in her direction, let alone look at her in such a manner, his lust clear to all who looked. She was four-and-ten, for the love of the Gods! Yes, Oberyn was married to her, but he had not chosen to wed and bed a girl younger than most of his daughters. It was entirely different.

"Tell me who's you are," he demanded in a rough tone, pinching her nipple and making her groan.

"I'm yours, Oberyn," she muttered in his ear as he frantically sucked a bruise onto her neck. One that would be clear for anybody to see, no matter which of her dresses she wore. "He won't touch me, I promise."

"Mine," Oberyn agreed possessively, reaching to grasp a nipple and play with it whilst recapturing her lips. Their lovemaking was frantic and hurried, with Oberyn taking care to ensure that his bride was covered in marks. That would teach the Usurper to look at her.

He rolled them over so that Alyssa was below him, lifting her with ease and then dropping her down onto his manhood. Alyssa whimpered and tossed her head back as she stretched to accommodate him.

"Ride, my darling," he ordered her huskily. "You are so very good at it."

"As my husband commands," she gasped back, before beginning to roll her hips, bringing them both towards their climaxes. He tugged her down to let their lips meet, groaning in delight when his peak crashed over him. Alyssa continued to swivel her hips a few moments longer, before she too came and ended up falling forward to bury her face in his chest, moaning.

He sighed, his temper mildly sated by the act. Alyssa was his, he comforted himself. Nobody else would ever touch her. And _definitely_ not the Usurper. He glanced at the marks staining her pale skin, smirking at the thought of the Usurper's outrage.

"How long are we to stay?" Alyssa asked finally, after slipping off him and allowing him to pull her close into his side. He ran a hand through her sweaty curls, mood darkening again. But this was an important conversation, even if they'd gone through it several times already.

"A sennight," he replied grimly. "You are not to leave the room without at least three guards. And anything you eat must be tested first."

Alys looked at him sharply at that. He had already told her several times that she was not allowed to traverse the Red Keep without multiple guards, but he'd apparently not mentioned the food before.

"We are under guest right!" Alyssa exclaimed, shocked and shaken. Her hand crept around her stomach protectively, as if to shield their unborn babe from the conversation. "Surely they would not dare to-"

"Do not underestimate the Lannisters, Alyssa!" Oberyn interrupted her sharply. "These are the people who shamelessly ordered the murder of an innocent woman and her two babes, solely for the sake of putting that blasted crown on Cersei's golden head!"

Alyssa's bottom lip trembled, and he felt a surge of guilt. He had not intended to raise his voice to her. She was sensitive, and her pregnancy had made her more so.

"I am sorry, my darling," he apologized, grasping her hand and lifting her fingers to his lips gently. "But these people care nought for anything save their own power. I fear for the safety of you and our babe, from the lions and the Usurper. The lions are drunk on their own power, and will do anything to remove anybody that might threaten their standing. The only God that Tywin Lannister believes in is himself."

"But why would I be a threat?" Alyssa protested. Ghost nudged open the door and came padding in, pausing to nose it closed again before heading over and climbing up onto their bed. Oberyn had gotten used to his wife's unnaturally-intelligent companion joining them on the bed, and Alyssa instantly lost of her fear when she petted Ghost's head, which the wolf placed in her mistress' lap.

Oberyn sighed and sat up, looking seriously at Alyssa. "Our Marks are why we are a threat," he explained. "They bind two strong kingdoms together, and they give us instant devotion from the pious. Remember, it was having Marks that let Queen Nymeria and Mors Martell unite Dorne. They merely had to show the people their wrists and they put down arms and swore allegiance. That's only a single example. And the Lannisters know that _we_ know that they are responsible for Elia and her babes' deaths. Anyone with a shred of political sense knows to be wary. And much as I am loathe to compliment any Lannister, Lord Tywin is no fool."

Alyssa swallowed, looking strained and worried. It made his chest ache for her, and he cupped her face gently.

"I will not let them harm you, my darling," he crooned to her. Her beautiful violet-grey eyes were sorrowful when she met his gaze and she cradled her stomach, which was swelling already. It surprised him a bit, as Ellaria had never started to show so quickly, nor had Elia or Mellario. He supposed that Alys was much slimmer than they had all been.

"Baratheon is no longer the warrior he was once," she murmured. "And to call me _Lyanna_. Why would he use my magnara title? It is a blatant insult to Dorne."

Oberyn sneered at the mention of the Usurper. "It is well-known that the man still grieves for his late betrothed," he told his wife. "And you are her, but thrice as lovely."

He spared a fraction of hate and aimed it at Catelyn Tully when Alyssa automatically shook her head at that. She rarely accepted a compliment, dismissing it as flattery or the bond making him biased. It was almost frustrating, but Oberyn could never get genuinely annoyed or upset with her when he sensed her emotions. He reserved his anger for her cruel stepmother instead.

"You _are_, my darling," he insisted, instead of getting into an argument over his wife's beauty again. "The Usurper-"

"Wait, he was not betrothed to my aunt!" Alyssa suddenly seemed to realize what he'd said. Her expression was puzzled and her side of the link confused. "He was _negotiating_ for a betrothal, but Grandfather was hesitating, because of various problems, and he was trying to see if there was a better match to be found for her. Why did you say he was betrothed to her?"

"Because outside of the North, everyone believes she was," Oberyn replied, himself surprised by this new information and wondering how it could be used. "But you say otherwise?"

"Aye," Alyssa confirmed with a nod. "And the negotiations were unlikely to come to anything. Uncle Benjen told us, that is, Robb and I, when we were two-and-ten. He said we were old enough to know, and that he wanted us to know the truth, not rumours. Apparently, Baratheon and Lord Arryn suggested the match. The maester of Winterfell, some man named Walys, was in favour of it."

"I thought there were no maesters at Winterfell?" Oberyn asked, furrowing his brow. He'd seen only Scholars, the Winter Lander equivalent.

In fact, that reminded him. Alyssa wanted a Scholar assigned to her household for her pregnancy. Given her delicate health with the babe growing within her, Oberyn had acquiesced. Scholars were generally held to be more skilled than even the Archmaesters. He would feel better himself, having one nearby to attend to any difficulties. He needed to send a letter to Winterfell, making the request. No doubt his goodfather would send the best of the University's selection to attend to his daughter and her babe.

"Generally, there are not," Alys agreed. She continued to pet Ghost, but consented to allow him to pull her to his side and stroke her hair. "According to Uncle, Grandfather lost his mind from grief when Grandmother died birthing a stillborn daughter. He threw himself into trying to increase Northern prestige, which is why he was making betrothals with the South instead of our family's bannermen, as is typical. Maester Walys came to Winterfell on Grandfather's request, and was ever-advocating being more Southron-like and ridding our people of various traditions. Thankfully, that was mostly prevented.

But I digress. Father was against the betrothal because he thought them an ill-matched pair. He feared they would make each other miserable. Uncle Brandon was against it because all of the Southron betrothals were angering our bannermen. It was very insulting, to pass them all over for seemingly no reason when many of them had loyally served for generations and without a marriage to a Stark as reward. Aunt Lyanna herself had heard of how he had sired at least one bastard already, and she didn't want an unfaithful husband. And he desired her to convert, which she was horrified at, and it made Grandfather hesitate.

So no, they were not betrothed. Nor did they ever meet or converse save for at the Harrenhal tourney, I believe. Yet you say that he grieves for her still? How, when he did not know her?"

"I expect he grieves for what she represents more than anything," Oberyn mused. "He is not a good king, and ruling makes him miserable. Not that he actually rules, leaving his duties to Lord Arryn. But I believe that he has fixated on her as the image of all he desired. And you, sharing so many features with her, have now become the new face of that." It made him scowl, stroking her side possessively.

"Do you think he would-?" Alyssa trailed off, but he could tell what she was thinking. The very thought made him mad with fury, and he clutched her close.

"He will not get the chance," Oberyn vowed. "You are _my _wife. You belong to _me_. If somebody dares to touch you, I will cut their hands off before their heads follow. _If _I am in a merciful enough mood to allow such a quick death."

Alyssa nodded, but she didn't seem reassured.

"Darling, the Usurper-" Oberyn began to try and soothe her fears, but she spoke suddenly, cutting him off.

"Did you see the young man, the one around eight-and-ten with the scarred cheek?" her voice had a strange, breathless note in it, and he was alarmed at the mixture of shame and fear she felt. "He wore a satin tunic of striped black and gold and a leather jerkin with silver studs."

"I confess, I did not," Oberyn admitted. "I was distracted. Why?"

"That is Theon Greyjoy, heir to the Iron Islands," she revealed.

It took a moment for the name to sink in. Then the raw loathing that erupted in his chest surged, so strong that Alyssa flinched. Even Ghost seemed to pick up on Oberyn's fury, flattening her ears back against her head and whining in distress.

Thoughts of vengeance and plans for a suitably painful death for the would-be rapist of his wife raced through his mind. He barely noticed his surroundings as he contemplated which would be more suitable, the Tears of Lys or hemlock. The Tears ate away the bowels and belly of the victim, and would be untraceable. On the other hand, hemlock acted as a paralytic while keeping the mind awake. It would take out the muscles and then shut down the respiratory system, so Greyjoy would die, frightened and choking. But there was also-

"Oberyn, stop," Alyssa spoke up, her strained voice breaking through to him. "You are hurting me. The babe-"

He realized, with a jolt of guilt and horror, that he had gripped her too tightly in his rage. He released her hastily, horrified to see fingerprints starting to form on her sides, but these were not the surface bruises that came from making love. These were proper bruises that would require a healing salve, staining her delicate skin. He cringed, disgusted with himself.

"Oh, darling, I'm sorry," he breathed. "I did not mean-I am so sorry, my sweet wife."

"It's alright," Alyssa assured him, ever-forgiving and gracious despite his actions. "It was an accident, I know. Do not be upset."

Really, what had the Gods been thinking? He did not deserve such a loving and gentle young lady to be his bride, and Alyssa deserved somebody far better than he to be her husband. He wouldn't blame Ygritte if she tried to stab him upon spotting the bruises.

"It is not alright," Oberyn replied darkly. "I should never have gripped you so hard."

"I bruise when I brush against air," she tried to dismiss. Then she cupped his jaw. "Please, Oberyn. No more of this. I have not the energy. I am exhausted and we must still attend the feast this evening."

"Of course, you are tired," Oberyn agreed, still guilty, he helped her crawl beneath the duvet and fussily covered her with it, tucking the sheets around her. "Rest," he instructed her.

"Yes," she agreed tiredly. "I am so very tired. The babe is exhausting, much as I love them already."

"Honestly, I must have a stern discussion with this daughter of ours!" he tried to jest. "She is being very bold, troubling her poor mother so."

Alyssa smiled weakly at him, one hand nestled in Ghost's fur, the direwolf taking up half-the bed. "She is just excited," Alys murmured. "Don't murder anybody while I am asleep, please?"

"I will not," Oberyn promised. He had not yet mixed up any poisons, and Doran would be displeased if he ran the rapist through. While Alys rested, Oberyn would look through his box of tinctures and such, so as to choose which would be most suitable for gaining Alyssa's revenge.

"Good," Alyssa mumbled sleepily. She mumbled something inaudible before drifting off completely. Lying there, she looked like a nymph from the stories of the Rhoynish, with her perfect complexion and lovely lips. Her hand rested on her stomach, protecting their babe even in sleep.

He thought, right then and there as he watched her chest rise and fall, that he was on the edge of loving her. Maybe the Gods had the right of it after all.

Ellaria would always hold a large part of his heart. But how could he not love his young wife? She was brilliant. He'd meant it when he told the Usurper what a blessing she was to him. Beautiful and compassionate with a sweet demeanour that hid the vicious she-wolf beneath. In her presence, he could almost feel at peace, even knowing that Elia's Justice was at yet unattained and her murders profited while Oberyn awaited his brother's declaration that they could make their move.

* * *

They arrived to the feast in that small time-frame between fashionably and rudely late. Alys had napped for half-an-hour before Emelia, Rosael and her ladies had descended on her to make her presentable for the feast.

She was now dressed in a gown made of dark red silk with orange trimming. Its neckline showed off her shoulders (including his lovemarks, which she had disguised with some make-up that failed to fully keep them from view. It was to Oberyn's vicious pleasure and Alys' dismay that they were shown off) and the tops of her breasts, and she wore one of the jewellery sets that he'd given her: a gold pendant with Martell sun-and-spear, and a pair of matching earrings. The dress itself clung to her tightly until her waist, where it flared out, though due to the lack of petticoat it continued to show off her hourglass figure and the bump forming on her abdomen. There was a braided belt wrapped around her hips, with a tail falling down the skirt. The sleeves seemed almost like a second skin covering her arms, with an extra layer splitting off at her elbows. Her curls had been tamed and flowed like a waterfall down her back, with various strands pulled into small braids and tied with gold ribbons. A gold circlet shaped like a snake (a feminine version of the one he wore) finished her outfit off.

As he'd expected, more than a few men gawped at the vision of loveliness on his arm, though Alys didn't seem to notice. It was one of those times when her obliviousness to her own appeal made him feel fond instead of exasperated or annoyed at her stepmother.

"Prince Oberyn of House Nymeros Martell!" the herald bellowed their introduction. "And his Marked wife, Princess Alyssa of House Stark!"

Oberyn wore a sharp smile as he guided her to the high table. Unfortunately, only himself and Alys of their party had been granted seats at the high table, so he had no allies in ensuring that the Usurper didn't get to torment his sweet wife with his despicable lust.

"Magnara!" the Usurper beamed, his cheeks ruddy from drink. "You look, lovely..." his voice trailed off as he spotted the lovemark Oberyn had left on Alys the night. His expression darkened as Oberyn's smirk widened.

Alyssa smiled politely and curtsied to him. Oberyn also reluctantly bowed, but was quick to speak in his wife's place. Let the whole court think him a tyrant of a husband if needs be, he would not allow Alys to interact with the Stag King any more than necessary.

"She does, does she not?" he agreed in an amiable tone, wrapping an arm around Alyssa's waist to run a hand over her curves. "Truly I have been so blessed with such a vision as mine wife."

"Indeed," Lord Arryn spoke up quickly. "Ahem, if you would like to sit, Your Highnesses? Prince Oberyn, this is where you will be sitting. Princess Alyssa, you are beside your husband, of course."

"Thank you, Lord Arryn," Alyssa murmured gently. Oberyn pulled the chair out for her first before seating himself. He was relieved to note that both himself and Lord Arryn were between his wife and the Usurper, giving her some protection from the cur.

"How is your father, Princess?" Lord Arryn continued once they were sitting down, cutting off the Usurper's attempt to speak. The man scowled slightly, but then cheered at the mention of Magnar Stark. Oberyn felt his mouth curve into a dark grin when he recalled the Lord of Winterfell's own opinion of the false king.

"Father is well," Alyssa replied. She eyed her plate glumly, and Oberyn leaned in as if to kiss her ear.

"Eat, darling," he ordered her quietly. "For the babe's sake." He didn't want the knowledge of Alys' difficulties with her pregnancy going around, least it reach unfriendly ears.

She turned her lips to his cheek to whisper her reply. "I shall do my best, of course," she muttered. "But must Southron feasts be so lavish?"

"As I said," she went on after pulling away. Oberyn noted with dark pleasure that the Usurper was scowling viciously and glowering bitterly at him. Just to anger the man more, Oberyn draped an arm across his wife's shoulders to play with a lock of her hair as he continued to eat.

"Father is well, but busy," Alyssa continued. "The Courts are in session at the moment, and of course everyone is frantically preparing for Winter."

"The Courts?" the Usurper repeated blankly, then nodded. His voice was slurred with drink. "Oh, right. I 'member Ned men'ionin' 'em before. They're where the peasants come an' make complain's and reques's in the Winter Lands, are they not?"

"Aye, Your Grace," Alyssa confirmed. "Though a bit more complicated, I fear. They happen twice yearly, and the nobility also attends to make personal reports on their lands and such. This is the first session that my brother, Robb, is to help conduct. He is very proud."

"Complaints from commons," Cersei sniffed. "It seems like a waste of time. Does your father let his steward rule while he soothes Mistress Seamstress' upset over selling her shop?"

Alyssa's eyes went cold at that. Oberyn hid a smirk behind his goblet. In general, his wife was demure. But insult her ancient House's traditions and she grew as icy as the lands they ruled.

"Well, Your Grace," she replied coolly. "Is it not the duty of any noble to guide their people, to ease their suffering? At least, that is the belief of the Starks. Of course, what would my House know of ruling? Tis not as if we have held our positions as rulers of the North for over eight millennia.

Of course, that is nought compared to, how long is it House Lannister has ruled the Westerlands? Five centuries, two as Kings of the Rock, correct?" Not particularly subtle, but it hit its mark.

She smiled sweetly at Cersei's red face. The lioness glowered, but her attempt to speak was cut off by a man and woman striding up to the table. It took a moment for Oberyn to recognize the pair as the Master of Winter, Lord Donnel Whitehill, his wife's distant cousin, and his wife, Lady Barbrey.

"Your Graces, my lords and ladies," Lord Whitehill bowed. "Our apologies for being so reprehensibly late. I am afraid our youngest daughter has a mild cold, and was reluctant to be separated from her mother's comfort."

"No, don' worry," the Usurper dismissed. "Don't blame you for not wantin' to spend more time than necessary 'round the queen. I don' like it either."

The pair ignored him and Cersei's outraged expression politely, taking their seats and giving Alyssa a warm smile. She was beaming back at him delightedly.

"How wonderful to see you again, Alys sweetling," Lord Whitehill smiled.

"We're terribly sorry to have missed your wedding, dear," Lady Barbrey added. "Unfortunately, by the time we'd have gotten there, you'd be preparing to leave already! My poor husband was terribly disappointed to miss the traditional threatening of the groom by the bride's family."

"The groom is not," Oberyn inserted cheerily. "I have already been told by about seven different Stark relations that, should my beautiful wife ever send word that she is unhappy, Dorne will be descended upon by a bunch of angry Northerners with swords unsheathed."

"Only right," the Usurper snorted. "Women so lovely ought to be treasured."

Alyssa's smile faded a bit at the way he spoke and looked at her. Oberyn clenched his knife tightly, trying to suppress the urge to shove it into the man's bulk. He was so overweight, it probably wouldn't do any damage anyway, unfortunately.

"Indeed, I quite agree, Your Grace," Oberyn said tightly. "After so much heartache, Alyssa has been such a joy. Though I am certain you know my feelings, given your own lovely wife. And to know that the Gods themselves gifted her to me! Why, it's enough to make me go to a sept!"

"How very heretical you sound, Prince Oberyn," Lady Whitehill laughed mildly. Evidently, these particular Northerners had been in the capital long enough to learn the game. "I must ensure that you are not filling our cousin's head with such notions! I insist that you join us for luncheon on the morrow. We have wedding gifts for you both. And the children will doubtlessly jump for joy to see Alys again. Tis been nigh on two years since we last visited Winterfell!"

Oberyn smiled and inclined his head in a nod. "Of course, we would be delighted," he agreed, sure that his eyes were glinting in triumph.

_"When you are at the Red Keep, you ought to speak privately with Donnel," _Lord Stark had told him. _"When you do so, Donnel will give you any information he has to aid in destroying the Lannisters."_

_Please Gods, _he prayed. _Let the man have something. Anything, so long as I can use it to avenge my sister._


	23. Alyssa 6

**Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT. This chapter is more important for the future than it seems, so pay attention, yeah? *wink, wink*. As always, thanks to every wonderful person complimenting and following this story. Read, enjoy and review!**

** Chapter Twenty-Two**

** Alyssa Six**

_**The Red Keep: 16th October, 297 After Conquest**_

The Red Keep had to have been one of the most miserable places in the world, in Alys' opinion. It could only be topped by the awful city that surrounded it. King's Landing was the size of Wintercity, but no Stark had ever allowed their people to live in such poverty.

Oh, life could be cruelly hard in the North. In the Lands Beyond the Wall, people outside of Hardhome waited until their children had turned two years' old before naming them, in fear that doing so earlier would bring bad luck and cause the babes to die early. When Winter came, if it lasted longer than two years, no amount of careful hoarding and tending the glasshouses stopped famine if the Magnar hadn't prepared well-enough and didn't ration the supplies properly. Their population was too large and their geography too rough to avoid it otherwise. Even the Starks themselves had gone hungry many times during winter. Especially the Starks went hungry, because it was their duty to feed their people before themselves.

But King's Landing was different. These people were miserable and starving, not because of their ruler's_ inability_ to stop it, but their _unwillingness _to do so. It appalled Alys to think that she'd attended a seven-course feast the night before, while outside the keep people had probably gone seven nights without eating at all. That, more than her ever-present nausea, had made it difficult to eat.

She decided, when she woke up, that she couldn't ignore it. Oberyn had left the bed to go to the practice yards already, and Alys was relieved. If he wasn't there, he couldn't forbid her to go. Of course, she could ignore him, as she had when he'd tried to prevent her from dismounting and walking to the Keep upon arriving. But her guards wouldn't disobey him should he tell them she was not allowed to go wandering the city, and Alys wasn't comfortable going around without them, even without her husband's repeated orders that she have protection at all times. This place made her shudder.

_In this room, _she had thought to herself when they entered the throne room the day before, _my paternal grandfather had my maternal grandfather, uncle and my father's betrothed all burned to death while he watched and laughed. All the while, my sire was violating my mother because of his own insanity. _

She had very nearly thrown up right there and then. She almost regretted that she hadn't. Maybe if she'd been ill, the King would be disgusted by her and leave her alone. Or else he'd decide, in his wine-clouded mind, that she was being mistreated by Oberyn and try and demand she be given to his custody instead.

She shuddered and wrapped her arms around her middle. She didn't want to think that such a thing could happen, but who knew with kings?

Power corrupts, absolute power corrupts absolutely. King Rodrik IX 'The Kinslayer' Stark had said that, and it was the reason the Courts existed and had the authority to grant and strip nobles' lands under certain circumstances. Even from the Starks, should it be necessary.

King Rodrik himself had killed and usurped his own brother. The man had been a power-hungry brute who'd murdered his pregnant wife, beaten his sister so badly she had become simple, executed thirty different bannermen who argued with his decrees and tried to conquer the Vale, all within the space of a year. He'd excused all his actions by insisting that he was King, and could do as he liked. Eventually, his younger brother had taken action to put an end to the tyranny. The Courts existed to stop such a thing every happening again.

Aegon the Conqueror had made no such actions to protect his own kingdom from unworthy successors however, and Aegon the Unworthy and Aerys the Mad were the consequences. Perhaps if the Iron Throne had checks on its power, the people of Flea Bottom wouldn't be starving to death while the nobility dined and drank and played their mad Game of Thrones.

"What's wrong with you?" Ygritte interrupted Alys' brooding, entering with Arrow on her shoulder and a tray of food in one hand. "You've got that look on your face."

"What look?" Alys asked, to avoid answering. She accepted the tray glumly, sighing at the thought of eating. Even something as simple as plain porridge was difficult to keep down.

"The one where you're blaming yourself for something that isn't your fault, 'cause you think you're a god," the spearwife replied bluntly.

"I do not!" Alys exclaimed, slamming her spoon down and glaring at her friend. "Don't go saying such things, Ygritte! That's practically heresy!"

Ygritte shrugged. "It's not your fault," she said, her expression softening. "It's the Fat Stag and the Lioness Bitch who are at fault for those people suffering. Not you."

Alys looked away, so her dearest friend couldn't read her thoughts on her face. Ygritte knew her so well. She was always there for her, even though she often claimed that Alys drove her mad, feeling guilty 'for snow falling during a blizzard' according to the redhead.

Of course, Ygritte felt guilty for things that weren't her fault either, Alys knew. But it wasn't as if they'd ever thought there would be a need to fear attack in Winterfell itself.

Until the Incident, Alys had naively assumed that the only danger she would ever be in within the walls of her home was Lady Catelyn's sharp tongue and birch rod, and her father usually shielded her from those. She had gone to the stables to prepare her mount and go for a ride alone a thousand and one times before then, without any trouble. Ygritte had been flirting with a blacksmith's apprentice, so Alys had waved her off when she'd offered to come, not planning to go further than the city. She'd never even made it to the stalls, and it had been the last time that she was left the keep without the company of a guard, or gone near the stables. She could still ride without being overtaken by panic, thank the gods. She might've lost her mind if she couldn't. But going inside the stables themselves was beyond her ability.

"He's here," she admitted softly.

"Who's here?" Ygritte blinked, bemused.

"Him," Alys replied. "Greyjoy. He's the ward of Lord Stannis Baratheon, the king's brother."

Ygritte sucked in a sharp breath. When Alys glanced at her, she saw her friend's blue-grey eyes burned with raw anger and the desire for revenge. But Ygritte had been trained by the best the North could provide, and she didn't instantly go running to commit murder under the king's roof, in contrast to Oberyn's reaction.

"If he comes near you," Ygritte stated after a moment of struggling to restrain her temper. "I'll kneecap him, then hold the son of a bitch still while you sacrifice him to the weirwoods."

Alys gave a small smile at that. It had been difficult to get her father to agree to let her be the one to execute Ramsay Snow, but he had given in to Alys' pleas. And while ending another's life still haunted Alys and had driven her to pray for forgiveness more times than she could count, it had also given her a closure she didn't think she would have received if all she had done was watch her father behead him. Ygritte had been the only one who wasn't convinced that the trauma of it all had permanently damaged Alys, and she loved her all the more for that.

"What time does the tourney start?" Alys asked, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear and climbing out of the bed.

"This afternoon, after lunch," Ygritte grimaced. "What a waste of time. Showing off their war skills and for what, gold? Don't these kneelers have enough of it? They'd all die in the North, weaklings."

"I take it you won't be giving anybody your favour then?" Alys teased her. "Ser Ulwyk will be terribly disappointed, I'm sure."

Ygritte scowled, but Alys could tell the difference between Ygritte being genuinely annoyed and simply putting on a pretence for whatever reason. Ygritte really did like the Uller heir, but she was a member of the Free Folk. If Ser Ulwyk was serious about courting her, he had to prove himself and his strength to her, otherwise she would refuse his advances.

"Well, if the tourney doesn't start until the afternoon," Alys switched back to her original topic. "Then there's time enough for me to go into the city and give out alms."

"You gave away everything in your purse, as well as your bracelet yesterday," Ygritte pointed out, expression soft.

"I can't live with doing nothing when innocents are suffering," Alys answered steadily. "Can you?"

"I'll organize an escort, while you get ready," Ygritte responded, an answer in itself. "That reminds me, Emelia is running a bath for you, and your ladies are choosing something for you to wear. Because, apparently, now that you're a princess, you are unable to dress yourself."

"Thank you."

* * *

_**King's Landing**_

Ser Arron and Ser Daemon, as well as Ygritte, Arrow and Ghost served as her protection. Her ladies had all been pleased with her decision to go to the city and give out alms, while the guards had protested.

"Your Highness," Ser Daemon had objected. "You are very good to do so, but the city is very dangerous. The-"

"The people have no reason to harm me, Ser," Alys had argued back stubbornly. "And they wouldn't dare, even if Ghost wasn't there to defend me, not to mention all of you. I am Marked, do you not recall? Who would be so mad as to risk their souls by harming one who is blessed by the Gods themselves?"

It had taken a little longer, but finally they had agreed, and Alys was now in the centre of the city, handing out money with her ladies. A crowd surrounded her, awed looks on their faces. They accepted her coins eagerly, praising her highly. Alys thought it simply awful that giving out some silver was enough to have her considered a saint by the commoners in King's Landing. How did the nobility at the Red Keep even live with themselves?

A little girl came up to her, a shy look on her face and holding a daisy. "Princess Alyssa?" she asked nervously. Alys smiled gently at her and crouched down to be at her sight.

"Hello, sweetling," she greeted the girl. "What's your name?"

"Alicent," the child replied. She shoved the flower at Alys. "I picked this for you," she blurted out. "Because the matrons said the Gods blessed you, so I wanted to give you something, but I didn't have the money for anything else."

"That is very kind, sweetling," Alys murmured, resisting the urge to cry as her eyes traced the thin bones of the girl's face, the gaunt pallor in her cheeks. She tucked the daisy into her hair, making Alicent beam in delight. "Do you live in an orphanage, sweetling?"

Alicent nodded. "Uh-huh. Because my brother can't afford to keep me yet. But when he's finished his apprenticeship, he's going to take me away to live with him again. He comes to visit me lots, though."

"What is he training in, darling?"

"He's a blacksmith's apprentice," Alicent announced proudly. "For Tobho Mott. Gendry will be the best blacksmith ever. I bet he'll figure out how to make Valyrian Steel again."

Alys smiled at that. "I am sure that he will," she agreed. She glanced up at the crowds surrounding her. They were all eager to get some attention from her, she could tell, and she knew she had to close up her conversation with Alicent soon, if she wanted to help anyone else before going back for lunch with her cousin and his wife.

"Here you go, sweetling," Alys handed a dragon to the girl, who's green eyes widened in amazement. She held the coin like it was a rare jewel, and it made Alys' heart ache in sorrow and guilt. "I shall see you again, and you will introduce me to your brother, yes?" Alys said to the girl as she straightened. "I must speak with a blacksmith to organize a gift for my father, and by the sounds of it, your brother will be the best one in King's Landing."

Alicent beamed in delight and nodded her curly head fiercely. "Yes, yes!" she agreed eagerly.

"Well, then, will you be so good as to meet me here tomorrow, at this time?" Alys asked her. "That way you can introduce me to him."

"I will!" Alicent agreed. She darted forward to give Alys' legs a lightning quick hug before dashing away, beaming happily with pride.

Alys smiled after her, then turned her attention to the old woman and a man she assumed was the woman's son.

"Your Highness," the man said. "I am Mathos. This is my mother, Aelinor. She is ill. Please, your blessing for her, my lady."

Alys was at a loss as to explain why anybody thought her touch could heal somebody, but she smiled anyway and put her hand on the woman's forehead, murmuring an Old Tongue blessing.

"Thank you, Your Grace," the man sighed reverently, while his mother beamed and pressed her palm to the area Alys had touched.

"Is it true, milady," Aelinor croaked. "That you follow the Old Gods?"

"Aye, tis true," Alys confirmed.

"And that your family has had more Marks than any other in history?"

"Aye," Alys repeated, curious.

"Then, milady," Mateos was the one to speak this time. "Could you tell us how to obtain a heart tree sapling?"

"I can do better than that," Alys promised, delighted. "I can have one sent to you."

"You are too gracious, Great Lady," another waiting woman declared. The adoration and awe in their eyes was strange to see for Alys, but she supposed it was the Mark on her wrist.

"The Old Gods teach that it is the duty of all nobles to care for those who have less than them," Alys explained. "I assure you, I do only what I expect of myself."

That made people murmur.

"Truly, Blessed Lady?" a man called. "The Old Gods say such? Not that we are being punished for sins?"

"Oh, certainly not," Alys stated firmly. "I haven't the slightest idea why the gods would punish good people. Only those who break their laws, owning slaves, forcing an unconsenting woman, abusing those under your power, murder, desecrating a godswood and that sort of thing are punished. But the commons are as important as the nobility, for how would we manage without your efforts and toils?"

She was surprised by the awe turning to outright adoration. Several people actually kneeled and kissed the ground, praising her. It made her cheeks turn hot, and she knew she was blushing.

"Oh, there is no need for that," she insisted, feeling flustered. "Please, do not-"

"Princess," Ser Daemon stepped up to her side. "Tis time to go. You cannot be late for the tourney, least the king," his tone was filled with disdain at the title. "be offended."

"Of course," Alys acknowledged. She looked apologetically at the people waiting for her attention. "I am sorry to say that I must leave for the day. But I shall return tomorrow to continue, I swear."

"Thank you, Your Grace!" someone called. Praises for her kindness and such were called after her as she was bustled away by her entourage.

"Princess, may I just say something?" Lady Jeyne Fowler asked.

"Of course," Alys answered, surprised. "I value your thoughts, I hope I have not made it seem otherwise."

Lady Jeyne smiled at her. "You may not realize it, milady. But you are a better woman than any other I have met. It is truly a privilege to serve you."


	24. Ned 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT. Read, enjoy and review. Also, a reviewer asked about this: in this universe, if an animal is bonded to a warg for a long time (a few years for example) and that person dies, the animal is unable to cope without them and dies. So, when the Starks die, their bonded wolves/birds die soon after (or often with them, in battle). Brandon and Rickard's direwolves were killed in the Red Keep by crossbowmen, and their birds died afterwards while Lyanna's direwolf died after Lyanna. She was hurt non-lethally when Lyanna was kidnapped and wasn't with her mistress when she was in the Tower.**

** Chapter Twenty-Three**

** Ned Three**

_**Winterfell: 16th October, 297 After Conquest**_

Ned sighed and rubbed at his temples, exhaustion and worry plaguing him and making his head ache. Only a few moons ago, he could have made his way to the family's private solar, and he would have been cheered instantly by the sight of his children. He could picture the scene perfectly in his mind: Robb would be sprawled across the rug in front of the roaring fire, his head resting on Greywind's back, and Bran would have his head on Robb's stomach, Winter curled into his master's side. Alys would be sitting crossed-legged with Arya on her lap, telling stories or singing to entrance and entertain her siblings whilst Sansa leaned against her side. Their own wolves would be piled together, most likely with Ghost fussing over her sisters in an echo of their human wargs.

But now, his babes were scattered all over the Seven Kingdoms, it seemed. Well, that was an exaggeration, he could admit. Robb and Bran still remained at home in Winterfell with him, of course. But Sansa had left with the Mormonts at the end of the Courts session, while Arya was in Dorne and Alys was in King's Landing.

Ned grimaced merely thinking of the Courts session. It had been chaotic and troublesome, with everyone losing their sense at the thought of the Wall falling. Some of his bannermen had been panicked and suggested a suicidal pre-emptive assault on the White Walkers, gathering their arms and marching north to destroy the wight army before they could gather their own strength. Others had hysterically suggested fleeing Westeros altogether and taking their chances in Essos, out of reach of the dead. Still others (a small minority) had urged mass sacrifices to the weirwoods of _every_ criminal, not just those who warranted the death penalty, in order to gain more strength for the Old Gods to fight their ancient enemies.

Ned had made a note of those ones, and set the Winter Eyes, the select group of Warg Warriors who joined with animals such as mice, insects or birds and used their abilities to spy for the Magnar of the Winter Lands, to keep an eye on them. There would be no black magic in the North under his watch.

After hearing the suggestions, Ned had done his best to soothe their panic. The North had fought the White Walkers for millennia, he'd pointed out. The Wall still stood, and would as long a Stark existed to be in Winterfell and preform the rituals that powered the spells keeping it so. He'd assured them that there was time yet, for he had gone through the ritual only a few moons past, and they were still as strong as ever. The Twilight Troopers and Night's Watch had admitted to increased wight sightings, yes. But it wasn't too bad yet, and everybody in the Winter Lands, even the wildings, knew to burn their dead to keep the White Walkers from using them for their armies. They had time to prepare, and panicked reactions would only cause chaos. The North could not randomly gather their arms. The Southrons would undoubtably think them to be rebelling, and then they risked having the South or the Ironborn attack them while their homes were defenceless. The Moat was nigh-on impenetrable, yes. But only if there were soldiers to man it.

His people, ever reluctant to acknowledge that they were technically vassals to the Iron Throne, had been quick to abandon any thoughts of marching North at that thought. The North Remembered how so many of their people had died for the Old Faith to stay alive, and they would not risk another Andal Invasion. There had been no such invasions since before the Conquest, but the way his people acted, you'd think the followers of the Seven had attacked only weeks' ago. As far as the people of the Winter Lands were concerned, the south was filled with untrustworthy cravens who preferred to save their earthly bodies and abandon the Gods then protect their immortal souls. They would not risk the south attacking and looting their homes, and Ned had used their belief in the south being constantly at the ready to do so to his advantage.

Once calmness had been re-established, they had gotten to planning. Everybody had been ordered to (discreetly) increase weapons production, for every future Seen by the greenseers involved a war, either with the South or with the White Walkers. Dragonglass would be handed out at Ned's discretion and there would be harsh penalties for anyone trying to get extra. Everyone was to ensure that torches would be available, and various siege weapons would be built to help defend the Wall. Rationing would be more even stricter than usual this Winter, and the death penalty for anybody caught stealing extra portions would be restored. Some had grimaced, remembering the brutality of the last winter, during which the loss of supplies during the Rebellion had led to famine, but it couldn't be helped. And the North's instinctive desire to hide any sign of weakness meant that they only dared to trade so much.

If the South knew how badly they had been hit by the Rebellion it would be a catastrophe. They would raise food prices beyond the North's ability to cope with, and famine would rage. As far as the South knew, the North had suffered the least losses in the Rebellion. In fact, they had suffered as much as the Stormlands had, but they had enough trained soldiers to replenish their ranks and make it seem as if they had come through nearly unscathed. But the Ironborn had taken advantage of their home defences being so depleted and destroyed many glass houses. Glasshouses took years to build properly and the runes that powered them could only be created by the greenseers, who were a small fellowship. It meant that they had been terribly vulnerable for years after the Rebellion, especially with the Greyjoy one coming on its heels, and they were only now recovering. But that was a secret every Northerner would take to their graves. The Winter Lands were a great prize, one that many power-hungry Southrons would be eager to steal.

'_Secrecy is another word for safety, my son' _Ned's mother had once told him. He agreed, for secrecy had kept his people safe and strong for thousands of years in a hard land. Secrecy had ensured that he had never seen Alys' head bashed in as an infant, or her slim form stabbed half-a-hundred times the way her half-siblings had died. Lying about the North's strength to make it stronger than it really was for a few years was a small thing, for its safety.

And it wasn't as if his people had been made weak by the wars. They simply struggled to feed their population properly, when they had as many people as the Reach, and did not have the Reach's ability to grow food. But after so long, they had perfected the art of surviving on the bare minimum. Let the Southrons think them dour and grim. It was better than dying.

At the same time as the North stocked up on supplies, they would quietly begin preparing their people for war. No matter what, there_ would _be war within the next few years, so Ned had to have his people ready for it.

Part of that meant ensuring that the Stark bloodline would continue, should the worst happen. He had not wanted to marry any of his children off before they were at least six-and-ten, but preferably older. The Gods had different plans in mind, it seemed.

He had studied the betrothal contract carefully only that morning. It was only the first draft, but the negotiations were going quickly and smoothly. For himself, Ned approved of his son's choice of bride. Jonelle Cerwyn was a good young lady, capable of defending herself and she had acted as lady of Castle Cerwyn since her mother's death of sickness a few years past. The Cerwyns themselves had been steadfastly loyal for millennia, but it had been some generations since they'd had the honour of marrying any Starks. Given the late Lord Cerwyn, the current Lord Even Cerwyn's uncle, as well as Lord Even's father, had both died on the Trident, it seemed fitting that they be rewarded for their loyalty.

And as for his other children, if things worked out as he hoped, Sansa would be Lady of Bear Island, and Bran and Arya, well those two were too young for such things. In the North, making a formal betrothal was illegal for those under the age of eleven. And women could not be bedded before at least three-and-ten, preferably older. It disgusted Ned to know that girls as young as one-and-ten were wedded and bedded in some places in the South. If such a thing occurred in the Winter Lands, the man was rightfully declared guilty of sexual slavery and gelded before being given to the weirwoods, as was right and just.

Ned was broken from his borrding thoughts when Twilight lifted his head and looked towards the door, Serene cawing and fluttering her wings. Ned put down the report on the moons' silver yield from the mines in the Skagosi Mountains he held and only had to wait a moment before the knock came.

"Enter!" he called. A second later, Jory popped his head around the edge of the door.

"My magnar," he stated. "There is an Essosi woman here to see you. She is quite insistent that you will want to hear what she has to say."

As he spoke, he made signs with his fingers in the secret code known only to the Starks and Warg Warriors. Roughly, it meant:_ I know her, but I don't recognize her. _Curious, the woman must be in disguise. Why?

Ned checked that Ice was at his side, then nodded curtly. "Let the lady in then," he directed his faithful friend and guard, who copied the gesture and withdrew.

A second later, a woman entered, pulling back her hood. The second he met her eyes, Ned lost the ability to speak. He couldn't believe his own vision, but he could never forget that gaze.

A dozen memories flashed through his mind:

"_Son, you are now betrothed to Lady Ashara of House Dayne," Magnar Rickard announced gravely to his son, four-and-ten._

"_My lord, I am delighted to meet you at last," the beautiful lady with dark hair and violet eyes gave him a bright smile that stopped his heart with her beauty and regal demeanour. Ned swallowed, trying to find the ability to speak._

"_I am delighted to meet you also, milady," he stammered. "I hope that we will be happy together."_

"_I am sure we shall," Ashara replied with another lovely smile. "Please, tell me of the North. I have always been so fascinated by it, I cannot wait to go and see it with mine own eyes."_

"_Dance with me Ned."_

"_I love __**you**__, Ned. I don't __**want **__Brandon, or Robert, or anybody else. I want __**you,**__ my Quiet Wolf."_

"_Ned, we need to hurry and marry, quickly," Ashara urged him, the last time he saw her. Her violet eyes were wide and worried._

"_I am eager to marry you as well, my love," he agreed. "But why-?"_

"_I am with child!"_

"_Ned," Lord Arryn looked graver and older than Ned had ever seen him. At his side, Jory tensed up and Twilight lashed his tail in distress. "I have terrible news. Your father, brother and Lady Dayne are all dead. The Mad King had them executed, and now he calls for your head too, as well as your brother Benjen's and Robert's."_

"Ashara," the name tumbled from his lips. Twilight was keening, his ears flat against his head, while Serene cawed and batted her wings agitatedly. "What, how? Have I gone mad?"

It was her, he was certain of it. The dark locks he'd loved to run his hands through had been dyed a sort of brownish-blonde, and she was older, more tired and less well-dressed than he recalled. But it was _her._ He knew it in the depths of his soul.

"No, Ned," she smiled back at him, the expression making his heart leap as if he were a stammering green boy again. "I am alive. Tis me, I swear. I came back to you."

"How?" he demanded, staggering over and pulling her into his arms. She sank into his embrace, still fitting as perfectly as when they were two young people head-over-heels in love, oblivious to the years of sorrow and separation that would separate them.

Not releasing her, least he discover himself to be having a magical dream, Ned moved them over to his chaise, where Twilight and Serene were quick to join them. Ashara laughed, petting his wolf and stroking Serene's feathers. She had never feared his direwolf companion, boldly petting the large animal without a shred of fear the day they met. He thought that might've been when he started to love her.

"Tell me, please Asha," he begged her. "How are you here? For fifteen years, I've thought you dead! How can you be here in front of me now?"

Ashara sighed, her joy fading and being replaced by a tired sorrow. His heart ached for whatever trauma had brought such a pained expression to her beautiful face, and he tugged her to lean against his chest, stroking her hair in the hopes of comforting her.

"When your brother came to the Red Keep, demanding Rhaegar's head, we all knew that I would be in danger," Ashara began finally, her voice steady yet raw with grief and pain. "I was known to be but weeks away from marrying you, after all, and Aerys had lost any small amount of reason he had left. Rhaegar was gone, so there was nobody who could go openly against him.

E, Elia, managed to get me away. She made a deal with Varys, who smuggled me out. I don't know who it was who died in my place, and to tell the truth, I don't want to either. I was smuggled all the way to Essos. I planned to wait out the war there, then return to you. But then, I heard that you had married to Catelyn Tully in your brother's place, and had a son with her. What was the point of going back then, when I knew you would never be mine again? I'd have gladly been your mistress if that's what it took, but I know you too well to think you would have agreed to such an arrangement.

So I stayed in Essos, acting as one of Varys' spies. Then, a short while ago, he sent me a letter saying that you had put Catelyn aside. And, I thought- Was I right to think so, Ned? Should I have stayed away?"

She gave him a pleading look, and he could resist no longer. His lips met hers, and he pulled her so close to him, it felt as if they were one. He kept his grip on her when she finally pulled her lips away to breathe, and they leaned their foreheads against each other, panting for breath.

"Yes," he replied softly. "You were most definitely right to return to me. I married Catelyn for duty, and I love the children she bore me more than anything, even you, and I cannot be ashamed of that. But I could not love her, not the way a man should be able to love his wife. I fear that I gave my heart into your keeping many years ago, my shining star. You have not seen fit to return it. Had I known you lived, I would never have married Catelyn. Gods, to know you have been alive and suffering all this time. Forgive me Asha. Please, forgive me for failing you."

"Of course, I forgive you," she replied sweetly. "Though in truth there is nothing to forgive. You have nought to regret. You would not be the man I fell in love with, had you not been so dedicated to your duty. Do not apologize, please."

He kissed her again, then pulled back to ask the question burning in his mind. "Asha, our child-?"

Her expression crumbled, and he felt his heart shatter in grief as he tugged her close again.

"I was so distressed by everything," she murmured into the fabric of his surcoat. "So worried and hurt and angry and afraid. I went into labour a moon two early, and she was so small, so delicate. She lived not even the full hour."

He clenched his eyes tightly shut, pressing a kiss to her hair. "A girl?"

"Aye," she whispered. "I named her Lyarra, as we agreed."

He sucked in a breath and then forced himself to let it go. "I have you now," he told her. "I have you, and this time, not even the Old Gods themselves could make me let you go again."

"Good, because I have no intention of leaving your side ever again," she replied, a bit of that fiery spark that had drawn him like a moth to flame flaring once again.

He scooped her into his arms, making her laugh in surprise, and carried her to his room. No. _Their_ room. He had the woman he loved back at last, and nothing would take her from him again.


	25. Oberyn 6

**Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT. **

**Okay, here's my question for all you wonderful people. I have several more ideas for stories with Ellaria/Oberyn/fem!Jon (not soulmates)**.** I love Ellaria, but I wasn't sure how to include her in this, and I was nervous 'cause of it being my first ASoIaF fic. Now though, everyone is being so complimentary about this, I want to give it a try. Here are my ideas:**

** (fem!Jon) is the daughter of Ned & Ashara (known fact) and is with her father and sisters when Ned is arrested. She manages to get away with Sansa and Arya and they flee in disguise to Dorne where they're discovered and taken in by the Martells. **

** I have another idea inspired by a Sansa/Oberyn story on Ao3 (there is nothing lost but may be found by branwyn, you should check it out) with fem!Jon as Ned & Ashara's true born daughter which would also be a Oberyn/Ellaria/fem!Jon. **

** , another one with trueborn fem!Jon where Robb is her bastard cousin and she is heir to Winterfell and finds herself forced into marriage with Oberyn by the Lannisters. **

**I****f I posted them, will you guys read them? None would go up straight away, because I only have a few chapters each sketched out, and posting it (I wouldn't do them all at once) would mean MILD delays in this one being updated. What do you say? Which one looks most interesting? I'll (try to) put up a poll so you can vote.**

**As always, my thanks to everyone enjoying this and keeping an eye on it, read, enjoy and review!**

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

**Oberyn Six**

_**The Red Keep: **__**16th October, 297 After Conquest**_

Oberyn scowled at his unrepentant young wife, crossing his arms and looming over her. "What were you thinking?" he demanded sharply. "Going out into the city with only three guards and Ghost? Without telling me?"

"You were gone already by the time I woke up and decided to go," Alys protested. "Anyway, Ghost is worth twenty guards, and Ygritte and Arrow another ten each. And why would I be in danger anyway? Twould be nothing short of heresy to attack either of us, you know that. But, I beg your forgiveness my lord husband, for having displeased you." She gave a curtsey, her eyes wide and guileless and her tone not quite hiding the sarcasm.

Oberyn huffed and dropped his crossed arms, frustrated. "I am serious, Alyssa," he half-growled. "The Lannisters employ the lowest of the low, and Greyjoy is wandering around too. I won't have you and our babe at risk."

Alys set her jaw stubbornly and Oberyn mentally cursed. He had learned quickly that while his wife was generally agreeable to obeying him, when she fixated on something, he often found himself giving in without realizing he had done so until too late. Not this time, he told himself. Alyssa and their child's safety were too important. He would not let her violet eyes or lovely pout distract him into giving in this time.

"I was perfectly fine, ask any of them," Alyssa insisted, gesturing towards the outside chamber where their escort was pretending not to be eavesdropping. No doubt the Northerners were carefully listening, ready to send a letter to Winterfell complaining on Alyssa's behalf if they decided it necessary. They had already done so before, when Oberyn and Alys had argued over something small he could no longer recall on the journey home to Sunspear. Whatever else could be said about his wife's friends, they were fiercely loyal to their lady. He greatly appreciated, save for when he received sharp letters from his goodfather pointedly warning him not to upset Alys.

"Just because you were fine this time, does not mean that you will be so the next!" Oberyn exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air and resisting the urge to shake her. Why couldn't she understand?

"The people in King's Landing are not like the commons of Wintercity," he gritted out. "They are desperate, filled with robbers and-"

"They're hungry!" Alyssa snapped back. "Their children are hungry! They resort to stealing to have something in they and their families' bellies at night! And why? Because of that brute who spent the entirety of our _seven-course_ feast last night staring at my breasts!"

Oberyn felt his frustration drain away at the upset coming through their link and in her voice. Alyssa was so tender-hearted and good natured, he couldn't find it in himself to continue scolding her for being compassionate. He sighed and pulled her into his arms.

"I am simply worried for you," he murmured to her, resting a hand over her belly. "Both of you."

"Aye, I know that," she replied, not leaning in to his chest. "But I cannot do nothing."

"You cannot feed every hungry person in the realm, my darling," he told her, stroking a curl out of her face. This time, she allowed him to tug her against his chest.

She glanced away, staring towards the window that overlooked the city. "When we get back to Sunspear," she said after a moment. "There is something that I must speak to you about."

He understood what she wasn't saying. Whatever she wanted to tell him, it was not safe to be spoken of in unfriendly territory. Had she finally decided to reveal the secret she had been keeping since they had met? He had not pushed, but he wanted to know dearly what frightened and worried her so.

"Of course," he agreed, instead of prodding her further. "Are you well enough to attend the luncheon with your cousins, my darling? If you need to rest before the tourney-"

"Nay," she waved that off. "At any rate, should I grow tired at the tourney, we will have an excuse to remove ourselves, will we not? I can think of far more pleasurable ways to pass the afternoon then with Their Graces."

"As can I," he grinned lasciviously, granting himself a moment to stroke her breast through her bodice. She rolled her eyes and slapped his hand away lightly.

"You are insatiable," she scolded him fondly, making him smirk and press a quick kiss to her lips.

"Any man who had been blessed with such a woman as his wife would be," he insisted. "You ought to be pleased I am not locking you in the bedroom with me all day and night. Perhaps I should do so for the next sennight. I would much prefer to show _you_ my _lance_, my darling, then any opponent on the jousting field."

"Shall I mention that to my father in my next letter?" she asked cheerfully. "I am certain he would be delighted to hear how we are spending our time."

Oberyn scowled, ardour instantly cooled at the thought of his goodfather. He had more appreciation for Eddard Stark than he had ever thought possible prior to going North. That didn't mean he wanted to think of the man whilst contemplating bedchamber activities with his young wife.

"Minx," he complained, as Alyssa pulled away and started to redo her hair quickly.

Sometimes it still amazed him to see how _capable_ she was. Most ladies, even those in Dorne, needed their handmaidens for help with dressing themselves and styling their hair, but not his wife. And it wasn't merely due to growing up a bastard, either. No, Alyssa's Northern ladies scoffed at the thought of needing aid in such tasks too, and they all knew and had experience with all manner of household tasks generally expected to be left to servants. _"How else can we lead them, if we do not know their lives?" _Alyssa had shrugged, when he'd brought it up. _"How can we know tis being done correctly if we have not done it ourselves?"_

Oberyn fully intended to hire a Northern governess instead of another septa to replace Septa Evaine, who had told him shortly before he had left for King's Landing that she intended to resign her position with his daughters. Oberyn would certainly be pleased to have his daughters be as independent and sensible as his wife was, and Alyssa would no doubt be pleased to have more Northerners about, too. He expected she planned to raise their children in the way of the North, and he was not inclined to stop it, so long as they were still taught Dornish customs as well.

"Ready to go, my husband?" Alyssa asked him, raising an eyebrow and breaking him from his thoughts and plans.

Oberyn nodded, hiding his eagerness. Alyssa must have noticed it through the bond, however, because she gave him a suspicious look. He had never spoken to her outright of his family's planned treason against the Crown, but he had not married an empty-headed flower. Alys was smart, and he had no doubt that she would have figured out what they planned even if she didn't have the ability to feel anything he felt.

That thought made him pause. He had signed up for the jousting, but he had not taken Alyssa's condition into account when he had done so. Well, Oberyn was a skilled jouster. He would simply have to take extra care this time. He imagined the look on the Usurper's face if he were to win. Should he win, Oberyn would naturally crown his wife as Queen of Love and Beauty. No doubt the Usurper would be enraged by it, something that made Oberyn chuckle viciously.

"Have pity on whomever you are murdering in your mind, my husband," Alyssa called to him from the doorway where she waited with Ghost, who was giving Oberyn an irritated look. "And finish them off quickly. We shall be late, and I do not wish to offend mine cousin."

"Aye, aye, I come," Oberyn held up his hands in surrender and made his way to the door to offer her his arm. She tucked her arm into his elbow, her slim arm seeming to be engulfed by his larger one, while Oberyn gestured for Daemon and Arron to join Ygritte as their guards.

"Let's go," he ordered. "We do not wish to leave the Whitehills waiting, do we?"

* * *

_**Master of Winter's residence: 16th October, 297 After Conquest**_

The Whitehills lived just outside the Red Keep, in a house placed at the foot of Aegon's Hill that had been the residence of the Master of Winter since Lady Visenya Stark had acted as Regent for her young great-nephews, first King Aegon II (Aegon the Young, who had died scarcely three moons' after being crowned) and then Aegon's younger brother Jaehaerys the Conciliator. It was built from dark rock, in the Northern style. Inside, the decorations too echoed the North, and there was a godswood in the gardens.

They were greeted at the door by Lady Barbrey, who beamed widely and pulled Alyssa into a tight hug, a young boy of about three years resting on her hip and ignoring everything around him in favour of making his wooden raven fly.

"Welcome, welcome," Lady Barbrey laughed. "Oh, how lovely to see you again, Alys sweetling. Ygritte, you look lovely! How wonderful to see you once again! We have dearly missed you so. Come in, you must tell me all that has occurred since your Marking, Alys, dear. I hope your husband has been doting on you suitably? Your guards are welcome to come in, Prince Oberyn, and make themselves at home. There is food for them in that room there, with our own other guards and servants."

"I hope so also," Lord Donnel called as he exited a room and strode to them. "for 'twould be difficult for me to smooth over things here in the capital, should mine cousin and his son decide it necessary to go to war with Dorne for his daughter's honour."

"If he needs to, I can always spirit her away," Ygritte assured them with a devilish smirk.

Alys laughed warmly. "Oh, he has been very good to me, I assure you," she informed them. She smiled at the babe. "Is this little Beron? To think he was but a year old when last I saw him!"

"Thank you, Lady Barbrey," Oberyn finally managed to speak. "That is greatly appreciated. Arron, Daemon." The pair bowed and gave thanks before they made their way into the room indicated, inside which people were cheerfully chatting over their food and the smell of stew wafted out of the door.

"Wonderful, and in regards to your question Alys, yes, 'tis Beron," Lady Barbrey confirmed. "Now, here is what shall happen. Your husband and mine shall go into Donnel's solar, where they will discuss dull men's business. The three of us, meanwhile, shall go and eat a private family meal with the children, while you tell me of how your pregnancy progresses. I have lots of advice for you. And you know that it is all certain and true, for I learned it from my mother, who had seven successful pregnancies and never lost a babe. Nor have I or my sisters, and we have twenty children between the three of us."

"Oh, I would be most grateful," Alys agreed warmly. She turned to Oberyn. "If my lord husband has no objections?"

Oberyn certainly did not, when he was eager to speak to his wife's cousin and learn what Lord Whitehill knew to help obtain Elia's Justice. "I certainly do not," he confirmed, kissing her fingers. "Though do not overexert yourself, yes? You have done enough this morning, and I would not have you ill."

"Oh, what did you do this morning?" Lady Barbrey asked, reaching out to take Alys' arm. "Men," she added in a fake whisper. "they say they are strong, but when it comes to a pregnancy, they are as faint hearted as they say we are."

Ygritte laughed, while Lord Donnel looked mock-hurt, clasping his heart and declaring "You wound me, my beloved!"

"Your ego must be wounded once a day, my husband," Lady Barbrey teased him. "Otherwise you would never fit through the doorframe! Now, sweetling, tell me of your day. I am terribly curious."

"Oh, well I went out to-" Alys began to say as they headed through a door different from the one Lord Whitehill had left, with Ygritte and the animals at their heels. The lord himself then turned to Oberyn.

"Shall we, my prince?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "My solar is just in here, and lunch has been laid out for us."

"That sounds delightful," Oberyn responded, following.

Lord Donnel's solar was similar to Magnar Stark's, but with more tapestries of various Northern landscapes, and a portrait of the man's wife and five children, instead of Alys and her siblings hanging above the fireplace. As promised, the table had been covered with a tray of sandwiches and two bowls of soup, steam wafting off the surface of the orange liquid.

"I prefer to have Northern fare whilst not at the Keep," Lord Donnel informed him, seating himself behind the desk. "I hope that is acceptable?"

"I prefer a lighter meal," Oberyn acknowledged. "But it is fine." Knowing the Winter Lander preference for not dodging topics and with his own desperation for the information Lord Donnel had, he jumped right in as he picked up his spoon. "I recall my goodfather mentioning that you may have some information that Dorne would appreciate knowing? I wonder if it we might speak of things, unless there is a reason not to?" Can we be overheard by unfriendly ears? he asked the man silently.

"Aye, I do," Lord Donnel nodded. "Have no fear of eavesdroppers, my prince. Almost everyone in this household is from the North, and all are loyal both to myself personally, and to the Starks also. We regularly check to ensure that there is no chance of eavesdropping. We can speak freely."

"Then I shall," Oberyn nodded. He pressed on eagerly. "I know Magnar Stark instructed you to learn what information could ruin the Lannisters. Have you found anything out?"

"Aye, with the aid of the Gods," Lord Donnel nodded. "The Lannisters are arrogant, but they are foolish rulers. They think that by making their servants cower in fear of them, and rewarding the monsters they have as some of their bannermen for terrorizing their smallfolk, they keep their people in line. 'Twas easy to get spies into the household, and the Eyes were of great aid also."

"So?" Oberyn demanded impatiently, barely noticing the mention of 'Eyes'. "What do you know?"

Lord Donnel pulled out a stack of documents and pushed them over the table to Oberyn. "Lots of despicable things that caused my stomach to churn with disgust," he sighed. "Some Andals seem unable to comprehend that smallfolk are as important as nobles. Forgive me, my prince, for my continued vagueness. I have been so long in this place I fear that I have forgotten how to speak plainly. I will tell you the most important things first, yes?"

"Agreed," Oberyn gave a sharp nod. He had abandoned his fare, too eager to learn of Lord Donnel's information.

"This first piece of information," Lord Donnel began, picking up the first sheet. "Is particularly distasteful to learn. Regrettably, it will merely damage the lions' reputations, not anything more. But it will be a start yes?

There are several different versions of the story, but they all agree on this: when he was three-and-ten, Lord Tyrion kept a young crofter's daughter in a cottage, and some of the rumours claim she married him, though that is unconfirmed."

"Lord Tywin would never accept a peasant as a gooddaughter," Oberyn stated grimly, clenching his jaw in dark expectation of what the man would say. Lord Donnel sighed heavily and nodded.

"Aye, he was enraged when he learned of it. The people disagree as to what happened. Some insist that Tywin had his son watch as the poor girl was violated by a dozen of his guards before she was dragged off and sold to the Ironborn as a saltwife. Others say that he gave his son the choice to help rape the girl or lose his inheritance, and the boy picked his inheritance over his lover. Still others say Lord Tyrion tried to help her but failed. Either way, the story is the same."

"Aye," Oberyn stood, sickened and needing to pace after hearing such a horrible story. As always when he heard of a woman being violated, thoughts of Elia crossed his mind, enraging him further. Now, however, it wasn't just Elia whom he managed weeping in fear as a tall man loomed over her slim form and tore off her dress violently. He imagined his sweet wife on the floor of the stables in Winterfell, Theon Greyjoy and a younger version of Lord Bolton pinning her down while she struggled and cried out in fear.

Feeling his growing rage through their bond, Alys reached out to him with her mind and sent a soothing feeling and an image of her stomach, lightly swollen, along with her memory of his daughters, laughing together the day before they had left for King's Landing. The image soothed him, just as she had intended.

Alys and his girls were safe, he reminded himself, forcing himself to relax as much as he could. And they would remain so. And vengeance for both his wife and sister was near at hand, Alys especially. Theon Greyjoy would not live out the tourney, for Oberyn had ensured that he was to face the boy in his very first tilt. His lance was already sharpened, and the poison Oberyn had chosen was simply waiting to be placed on the weapon.

"Forgive me," he cleared his throat and sat back down. Lord Donnel had an understanding look and he nodded.

"There is nought to forgive," the man assured him. "But release your distress, for it cannot be good for my cousin and the babe she carries to feel your unhappiness. Justice for Princess Elia and her children is near, and their spirits will be able to rest in peace at last."

"Aye," Oberyn breathed the word like a prayer. He liked the Northerners more and more the longer he spent with them. Really, he was at a loss to understand why Dorne had never thought to reach out to create an alliance with them before. They were good, honourable people, in a way that was rare in the Seven Kingdoms. Mayhaps it had to do with knowing that their own Gods were active and obvious in their lives, in contrast to the silence that was all the Seven had ever given Oberyn.

"You are correct to say that it will merely be a blow to their reputation," Oberyn went on. He grimaced to say it. "Were the girl a noble, 'twould be different, but as a peasant..." He trailed off as Lord Donnel nodded, the man scowling in understanding of Oberyn's words. "Do you have aught else that can be used?"

Lord Donnel smirked and nodded again. "Aye, certainly. This will please you, I am certain. The Lannisters are struggling for gold."

Oberyn's eyebrows went to the top of his head as he accepted the page handed to him. Looking at it, he was astonished to see it was a copy of a loan agreement from the Iron Bank to Casterly Rock. "How did you-?" he started to ask, but Lord Donnel's smirk and wink was answer enough. Oberyn recalled, suddenly, that it was due to the Starks that Braavos existed in the first place.

Slavery was against the ancient laws of the First Men, and when the slaves who had founded Braavos had fled their masters, the King of Winter at the time, Theon XXX, had sent men to protect and aid them. They had even loaned the money that had begun the famous bank in the first place. The Starks had been honoured by and allied to Braavos ever since. Apparently, their ties were close enough to allow them access to the supposedly private accounts. It was a disconcerting realization to make, as Oberyn was aware that his own family had dealings with the Bank. Did the Starks keep an eye on all the Bank's dealings with Westerosi families, or was this an exceptional case?

He put that thought aside to focus on the topic at hand. "A loan for six thousand dragons, with a note that this is added to a previous one, though it does not mention how much that one was," Oberyn read the information aloud. "And a mention of a discussion with a peasant in the Westerlands, stating that their taxes have gone up twice in the past eighteen moons. Their mines are drying up?"

"I suspect they have been dry for some time now," Lord Donnel mused. He explained at Oberyn's questioning look. "Think on it. The Crown has borrowed nigh-on two million dragons from the Lannisters since Robert's reign began alone. That does not take into account the loan Lord Tywin paid to the Iron Bank to pay off Jaehaerys II's debt that Aerys never returned, and the amounts loaned by Lord Tytos to the Reyenes and Tarbecks. That still sits under tonnes of destruction in Castamere. All put together, tis nearly nine million dragons loaned out. The Rock has been mined for centuries, and no mine is bottomless."

"You are correct," Oberyn acknowledged, stunned such things had never occurred to him. If Doran had thought of them, he had never said so to the younger brother. This knowledge was a great boon indeed. "If they are mistreating their smallfolk and raising their taxes so much, there must be discontent among the smallfolk of the West."

"Aye," Lord Donnel confirmed. "Our men said they did not believe it would take much to stir an uprising. For instances, the mention that the Marked couple, who are revered by the Gods themselves, oppose the Lannisters. Such a thing would undoubtedly make the people run to be the first to present you with the Lannisters' heads, in hopes of guaranteeing themselves a quick entry to whichever heaven they believe in, by gaining yours or Alys' favour."

"Aye," Oberyn agreed, delighted. He ought to go to a sept or a godswood and give thanks to the gods for giving him his Mark. It had gone from a frustration to one of the greatest gifts he had ever received, topped only by his children. "Though, I would need to speak with mine brother before preforming any actions. He will desire to make plans."

"Of course," the man accepted.

"I must thank you for your efforts, my lord," Oberyn added. "My House is indebted to you for your aid."

"You are kin, as the husband of my cousin," Lord Donnel replied, as if it were as simple as that. Perhaps it was, to him. The Winter Landers put greater emphasis on family than anywhere else. "And that is not all the information I found. I have saved the most critical piece of information for last."

"Oh?" Oberyn leaned forward eagerly.

Lord Donnel smirked. "Whilst speaking to the servants at Casterly Rock, one of the older maids made a reference to an old event that occurred when the Queen and her twin were children. It was a curious one, so I researched more deeply. Tell me, my prince. Have you noticed how dissimilar the royal children are to their father? All of them are perfect replicas of their mother."

Oberyn's eyes widened in glee as he picked up on the man's implication. "Do you mean to say-?"

"There is a book that describes all of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms," Lord Donnel interrupted him. "The Baratheons always, _always_, have dark hair and blue eyes. The facial features themselves, height, complexion, all of those change. The daughters who marry into other families do not have such strict adherence to the rule, and their children may favour their father's blood. But everyone sired by a Baratheon man shares the same blue eyes and black hair.

The king has sixteen bastards of various ages. Ten of them are here in King's Landing, unacknowledged but recognisable as his. One is an acknowledged boy in Storm's End, being fostered by Lord Renly and the oldest is a girl in the Vale. All share the same hair and eyes of their father. The king and his brothers, Lady Shireen, they too have black hair and blue eyes.

Yet the Queen's children have no features or characteristics in common with His Grace. Only the eldest babe she bore, a boy who died in infancy, had such colouring. Her twin brother, who is devoted to her, is her usual assigned Kingsguard, and her most trusted and favoured attendants are all Lannister cousins. Ones who would give their loyalty to the queenly cousin over their kin, should it be needed.

What do you make of it, Your Highness, when you take all of this information into account?"

Oberyn took a moment to breathe and force himself not to act rashly, despite his vicious glee at the information. Lord Whitehill was right when he said this was the most important piece of information. The consequences of this would be catastrophic for the Lannisters if it got out.

A husband was not required to be faithful, but it was different for a wife. Dorne sneered on the law, and had never adapted it in practice when they had joined the Seven Kingdoms.

But the fact remained that, regardless of his opinions of it, according to the law laid down during the Old King's time, if Alyssa ever committed adultery, Oberyn was allowed to whip her seven times, once for each of the gods. Of course, he himself would never do so. Not just because it was impossible for his wife to lay with another unless she was forced to, but had they not been bonded and still somehow ended up married, Oberyn would probably have merely been disappointed he had not been asked to join his wife and her lover in bed as well. Alyssa was her own person, and he would not treat her as his property.

Of course, he was still relieved she could not be another. With the bond in place, the thought of another person,_ any person_, touching his wife was enraging.

But the point of the matter was that a woman committing adultery was legally a crime. The argument was, of course, that a woman's body belonged to her husband, and he alone. In addition, and perhaps more importantly, were the adulteress to get with child from her lover, she would be making a bastard an heir to holdings they had no true right to.

For a queen, the crime was far graver.

"I think," Oberyn replied, in a soft and viciously pleased voice. "That the Queen has committed, or is still committing, _treason_."

Lord Donnel smirked and raised his goblet in a silent toast. Oberyn returned the gesture, more than pleased with what he had learned that day.

Really, he thought to himself once again. We ought to have made an alliance with the North centuries ago. These people are brilliant.


	26. Arianne 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF. Read, enjoy and review!**

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

**Arianne Two**

_**The Red Keep: 16th October, 297 After Conquest**_

The first day of the Tourney of Sun and Ice, as it had been named, was to consist of a mock battle being played out between two teams of knights. One team would be pretending to hold a lady, in this case Lady Margaery Tyrell, who was soon to be Arianne's goodsister, 'hostage' in a fake wooden tower built purely for the event. The other team would be attempting to rescue her.

Arianne herself had little interest in the tourney itself, though she usually enjoyed them. She had come purely to meet with her uncle and his new bride, and see about ingratiating herself with them. If she could convince her uncle that she was repentant in regards to her actions (which she was, if only because it had gone so badly wrong) then she could persuade him to intercede on her behalf with her father. If Doran allowed her back to Sunspear, and she got support for her claim to the Sun Chair from her Marked relatives, everything would go so much better. Nobody would support Quentyn's claim over hers if she was backed by a Marked couple.

She squeezed through the crowds of spectators, heading for the familiar banner of orange with the red spear plunged into the golden sun, flapping above a tent. A group was clustered around it, and Daemon was the first to spot her. His eyes went wide with shock at the sight of her, and Arianne shot him a flirtatious grin.

"Hello, Daemon," she purred, batting her eyebrows. A tiny foot dug into her sternum at that moment, reminding her that she was no longer the beauty she had been several months prior. She resembled a whale, actually. Her smirk lessened. "Is my uncle available?"

"Princ- Lady Dayne," he greeted her cautiously, as Arianne bit back an automatic scowl at the title and name that came with it. "What a surprise. We had not been informed that you and your husband were attending the tourney."

"My lord husband is to participate," Arianne shrugged as casually as she could. And with luck, she added mentally. The damned man will fall off his horse while jousting and break his neck.

"And anyway, who would miss the event of a century? They are saying it will be better than Harrenhal, not that it would be hard given the disaster that turned into. In addition, given the circumstances, this was probably my only chance to meet my new aunt and congratulate mine uncle and his wife on their fortune. In regards to this, I ask again, Daemon. Is Uncle Oberyn available or not?"

Daemon swallowed and jerked his head. "I will bring you to him," her old lover and friend murmured. "Come with me, please milady."

She followed him, resenting the weighted glances filled with disapproval and disappointment being sent her way by the Dornish members of the party. The others were unfamiliar to her, and she assumed that they were members of the retinue that the new Princess Alyssa had brought to Dorne with her from the North. At least, they wore the plain, dark colours so typical for those who came from the Winter Lands, and there was no make-up on their faces. They gave her bemused looks, but otherwise seemed focused on interrogating the Dornish on the purpose of a tourney.

"It simply seems like such a waste of coin," one lady, of about seven-and-ten with long brunette curls and eyes like seafoam commented. "I mean, who is not aware that the Crown is millions of dragons in debt? Yet the king spends money he does not have on an event so lavish and useless."

"We do not have such, in the Winter Lands," another lady, this one closer to four-and-ten, added with a frown. She was blonde, her hair pinned back in a braid and her eyes grey and serious. "It is a waste of coin, as Serena said, and they reveal our martial secrets. Though, we do have horse races at the solstice festivals. Magnara Alyssa won thrice in a row, every year since she entered for the first time."

Lady Jeyne Fowler began replying to the statements, but by then Arianne and Daemon were at the entrance to the pavilion, and she waited impatiently while her old lover ducked inside. She heard some voices speaking to each other, muffled by the fabric walls, then Daemon returned. His gaze was still weary of her when he exited again.

"Their Highnesses will see you," he informed her with a slight bow.

I am honoured, she scoffed mentally, hiding her anger behind a smirk. How gracious of my uncle to agree to see his sole living niece. But she could not say that aloud. "Thank you, Daemon," she hummed instead, reaching out to pull aside the flap of the opening so that she could enter.

The tent was the same one her uncle had used for travelling for years, with the usual set up (though of course, it was missing the bed and trunks). A small travel desk, a portable floor covered in a velvet rug, a chaise with cushions.

Her uncle was dressed in a red tunic made of silk, with black breeches tucked into a pair of leather boots. His favourite snake-styled circlet was around his head, and he had his signet ring on too. A sword with a snake head as the hilt that Arianne didn't recognize hung from his belt. Curiously, he also had a strange, chunky bracelet made of some sort of white wood on his wrist. It was a perfect match to the one worn by the young lady wrapped in his arms, eyeing Arianne with a wary expression. Her uncle looked cautious but pleased to see her, which gave Arianne hope that he would not turn her away. She looked at her new aunt, examining House Martell's newest member.

Alyssa Martell of House Stark was a beautiful young woman, Arianne acknowledged. She had porcelain skin, without a single freckle or spot to mar it. Her eyes were wide and doe-shaped, a mixture of grey and violet that made them seem almost luminous. She was short like the Starks usually were (supposedly an inheritance from their Child of the Forest ancestress), the top of her head barely reaching Oberyn's shoulders. Her chestnut curls were swept back into a Northern-styled braid, with a white ribbon holding it in place and a simple silver diadem with a single moonstone resting on her brow. She wore a cream-coloured kirtle with plunging dagger sleeves under a side-less blue surcote with silver piping and a pair of plain blue slippers. Other than her diadem and wooden bracelet, she wore a silver ring with the Martell sigil and no other jewels.

Overall, she seemed like a simple woman, perhaps a result of her upbringing as a bastard.

"Niece," Uncle Oberyn spoke first. Arianne felt a jab of hurt in her chest at the tension in his expression and tone as he greeted her. He had his wife held to his chest with both arms, and showed no sign of releasing her to embrace the once-doted on niece he had not laid eyes on in nearly a year.

"I am surprised to see you here, Arianne," her uncle continued. "What are you doing here?"

"Uncle," Arianne smiled at him, forcing herself to ignore his unwelcoming manner. "I came with my lord husband to watch the tourney. I thought to see mine uncle and meet your new wife whilst I had the chance. Am I unwelcome?"

His jaw ticked as he failed to respond, and Arianne felt her chest sting in hurt again.

"Of course, you are very welcome," Princess Alyssa spoke up for the first time, breaking the tension. "Simply unexpected. A lovely surprise, I am certain. I am most pleased to meet you at last."

Arianne studied the younger woman. Alyssa was tense, but only her rigid back showed it. Her expression was mild and even, her tone gentle. Arianne was privately surprised when her uncle glanced down at his wife with a tender expression that she didn't recognize on his face, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of her head. She smiled up at him seemingly on instinct.

Fascinating, Arianne mused to herself, as she observed the interaction. She had expected her uncle, with his fondness for the pleasures of the flesh and his grief over Ellaria, would resent being tied to one woman for the whole of his life. She had not thought he would be cruel to the girl, of course. 'Twas not in her uncle's nature to act as such, especially not to maidens. But she had not expected him to be so, protective was, perhaps, the wrong word to describe it. Yet Arianne could not think of another one.

Yet it seemed she had been wrong in her predictions of how Oberyn and Alyssa's relationship would play out. Her uncle could be tender, yes. But the gentleness he displayed towards his daughters and Arianne as a child, and even the way he had sometimes interacted with Ellaria, was different to the way he held his young bride. He held Alyssa gently, as if she were made of glass, and had a more serious air where he had always laughed and teased Ellaria. Alyssa herself did not seem the teasing type, having a solemn mien and a thoughtful look in her eye where Ellaria had ever been laughing and flirting. Arianne could not imagine this lady acting at all like Ellaria.

They fit, she concluded, watching them. In a way, Uncle Oberyn and Ellaria did not.

Ellaria and Oberyn had loved each other deeply, but a keystone of their relationship was how similar they both were. The same half of a coin. It was different to how Alyssa and Oberyn were together. _They_ were like two pieces of a whole.

Alyssa is calm and soft where Uncle is wild and harsh. And together they complete each other, Arianne mused to herself.

Perhaps that was the whole core of the soulbond. Each being a part the other was missing.

Oberyn finally dragged his gaze away from his wife, though he continued to hold her possessively (which was both familiar and not. Arianne's uncle had always been territorial, but never with his women. Another thing changed by the bond, it seemed. Or was it Alyssa herself who changed things, rather than the influence of their link? She had an air about her that you want to protect her, so perhaps that was all. Something to ponder later, mayhaps.).

"So, Arianne," Oberyn drawled. "Join us on the chaise, will you not? We can catch up."

"The tourney begins in just over an hour," Alyssa warned. "And we are required in the royal box." She grimaced slightly as she said so, the expression so minute and brief Arianne would not have noticed it if she were not keeping a close eye on the girl. Arianne supposed the rumours that the Usurper had spent the previous night's feast leering at the girl and mistaking her for his dead betrothed were true. Her new aunt had her sympathies, to be the object of lust from such a horrid brute of a man.

"Excellent, we will make the Fat Stag go mad with jealousy as he contemplates what is causing our delay," Uncle Oberyn smirked, tugging his wife over to the chaise and getting her to perch on his lap. Arianne joined them, amused by both her uncle's comment and his wife's mild flush at their position.

Oberyn turned to her, undoing his wife's braid to play with her curls with one hand and making her sigh resignedly. His other hand kept Alyssa securely in place on his lap. "So, Arianne," he began mildly. "You say that you are here with your husband? Where _is_ the Darkstar?"

Arianne supressed a grimace and gave an indifferent shrug. "I expect that he's off signing up for various events," she replied lightly. "But I did not come to speak about my husband. I came to meet my new aunt. And before I forget, I must give you my congratulations, Uncle. You seem to be pleased with the Gods' gift to you. A beautiful bride, to be certain."

"Aye, is she not a vision?" Oberyn agreed genuinely, planting a kiss on his wife's shoulder-blade and making the quiet lady flush darker.

"Thank you, Lady Dayne, for your compliment," Alyssa murmured, leaning in to Oberyn's chest when he pressed her to do so. "Will you be staying for the whole tourney? You must have supper with us one of the days."

"I would be delighted," Arianne agreed genuinely. She studied the other woman, asking various light questions while she did so.

Beneath her quiet, demure demeanour, Alyssa was a very clever young lady. She also very obviously_ cared_, deeply, for everyone, regardless of their ranks.

It quickly became obvious to Arianne why her uncle was so fond of his young bride. She had come intending on figuring out how to use Oberyn and Alyssa's Marking to regain her place as future Ruling Princess of Dorne. Now, she was starting to feel bad of merely thinking about using the sweet young Northern lady for her own ends. Alyssa was just so _nice._

She was also, apparently, more sensible in regards to the Game of Thrones than Arianne had realized at first.

Daemon stuck his head inside the tent, informing Oberyn that a messenger had arrived from the king to speak with him. Looking supremely annoyed, he let out a sigh and shifted Alyssa off of his lap. He paused to kiss her as he stood.

"I shall return in a moment, my darling, Arianne," he told them, before striding out briskly.

Alyssa turned immediately to Arianne and got right down to the point. "You want Oberyn and I to help you regain your place as heiress, don't you?" she asked bluntly.

Arianne blinked, taken aback. "If I did?" she said cautiously. "Would you agree?"

Alyssa pursed her lips. "That depends," she answered. "Why do you want to be the Ruling Princess anyway?"

"I don't understand what you mean," Arianne admitted, puzzled by the question.

Her new aunt paused for a minute before beginning to speak, seeming to contemplate how to phrase what she wanted to say.

"My father has always told my siblings and I that, to be a great ruler, you should not want the position solely for the sake of having it," Alyssa explained. "You should want it for the sake of what you can _do_ with it.

Do you want to be Ruling Princess just because you think you should be? Or do you want it because you think you would be able to help your people?

If you say, and you truly mean and prove that it is the latter, then I might agree to help you. If I think it would be what is best of Dorne.

But I have a duty to Dorne now, and if I think that Quentyn would be a better ruler than you, than I am sorry, but I cannot aid you. I am a Princess of Dorne, and I have a duty to our mutual people to do what I believe is best for them."

Arianne stared at her young aunt in silence, the question echoing in her ears. Why do you want to be the Ruling Princess?


	27. Cersei 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT. As usual, thanks to everyone enjoying this story.**

**Just to clarify something about the other stories, the main pairing would be Oberyn/fem!Jon, with Ellaria there on the sidelines. And in the heiress of Winterfell one, I don't think she'd be there at all. **

**I also had another thought which I will add to the poll (now up): Queen fem!Jon of an independent North, where Oberyn flees with his family and Elia's children after a Lannister coup. Whatcha think? (The plot bunnies never stop!) **

**Read, enjoy and review! (And say what you think about the twist in the Lannisters' lives). This one is a bit of a filler to give a glimpse into Cersei's mind.**

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

**Cersei One**

_**The Red Keep: 16th October, 297 After Conquest**_

Cersei surveyed herself in the mirror, nodding in smug satisfaction at the sight she made. Despite having seen one-and-thirty years, and bearing four babes, she was still as beautiful as ever. Still 'The Light of the West'.

Her long golden curls flowed down to her waist, with a section pulled into a crown-braid. She was dressed in a Pentosi-style dress, made of red silk and embroidered with gold lions chasing each other around the skirt. Her corset was tight, to make her bosom swell up, and she scarcely needed any make-up, for no lines revealed her age. (Though of course she continued to wear it to highlight her beauty). Her jewellery was as ostentatious as a queen's ought to be. It consisted of a circlet in her hair, a thick three-chain necklace around her slim neck, earrings dangling from her lobes that matched her three rings and the lion's head torc bracelet around her left wrist. All of it was made of gold and rubies, to symbolize her illustrious heritage.

_I am still the most beautiful woman in Westeros, _she thought pridefully to herself. Her expression darkened slightly a second later as she added to herself._ Far more beautiful than that jumped-up bastard. And unlike her, I am from the Westerlands, the richest and most powerful kingdom of the seven. I am Queen of Westeros, and she is nought more than a Northern barbarian turned Dornish savage. It doesn't matter how old her line is. The Starks still don't compare to the lions._

The girl had seemed like a simpleton to Cersei, during the feast, and plain as well. The only feature she had that could be considered interesting were her eyes, tinted with an almost Valyrian violet as they were. Even then, it was only a tint. She favoured her Stark father, whomever her mysterious mother was, and the Starks were not known for their beauty.

But the impertinence of the girl! It made Cersei seethe in fury to remember how haughty the child had acted, speaking of her ancient paternal ancestry. _As if I should be impressed that her ancestors have managed to hold onto their power over a bunch of tree worshipping barbarians!_

And the way Robert had lusted over the girl, with Cersei right at his side! It was pure humiliation, as much of Cersei's marriage had been. To think that she, who had been groomed to marry the charming and handsome Prince Rhaegar since infancy, who was the eldest and cleverest and most beautiful of all of Tywin Lannister's children, his true heir regardless of her sex, was forced to endure a marriage to _Robert Baratheon_ of all people. Cersei growled like the lioness she was, clenching her fists angrily.

She had been pleased to finally become Queen, to gain the title stolen from her by Elia Martell, that weak chit. But Robert was a brute, unrefined and constantly in his cups, mooning over his precious Lyanna Stark. Oh, the mere thought of the dead Stark girl infuriated Cersei.

What was it about her? She had been even plainer than her niece, and completely wild. Cersei remembered how she had acted at Harrenhal, as unladylike as it was possible to be, with that mangy wolf and the blonde girl with the strange hunting dog constantly trotting at her heels and helping her cause trouble. Lyanna had even ridden her horse astride instead of side-saddle! Yet both Robert_ and_ Rhaegar had fallen for her. Was the dratted wolf-whore some sort of witch? Gods knew what the followers of the Old Faith taught their daughters, what with their blood sacrifice and the strange wild but tame animals constantly trotting at their heels. At least she had died, and failed to steal Cersei's crown from her too.

Of all the people to be Blessed by the Gods, why would it be this Alyssa Snow (whatever the law said, the girl was nought more than a jumped-up bastard in truth. A name would not change that) of all people? Why not Cersei, beautiful and clever as she was? That was what should have happened: Cersei Marked with Rhaegar's name on her wrist. They would have ruled together, wisely and happily, and everything would have been perfect.

She sighed, longing for her lost future, stolen from her by the Stark and Martell women. She would see them pay for it though. Alyssa Snow would regret Elia Martell and Lyanna Stark stealing the future that should have been Cersei's.

"My queen," one of her handmaidens, Lilianne Lannister, of the Lannisport Lannisters, curtsied as Cersei turned to raise an eyebrow at her. The girl kept a submissive expression on her face as she spoke, her eyes fixed on the ground as Cersei preferred from her servants. "Your litter is ready to take you to the tourney field, Your Grace," the girl stated.

Cersei sniffed haughtily. "Very well," she huffed, before sweeping past the irritating maiden and heading for the door.

Jaime was waiting outside her door, and she paused to smile at her twin. Of all the Kingsguard, Jaime was (of course) the one she trusted the most. He was far more loyal to her than to the oaf of a man she had wed, as proven by the way he kept her trysts with Lancel secret. She wished she could persuade him to go to bed with her again, as he had in their youth, but he had refused her advances for years. Ever since her marriage. Another thing that Robert had ruined for her.

It angered her greatly, but she kept calm by reminding herself that, once Robert was at last out of the way and her darling Joffrey was on the throne, she and Jaime could be together again. And that time was coming, for Cersei would soon have endured enough of her husband, and take action.

Jaime silently fell into place behind her as she strode to her litter, where Myrcella was waiting patiently. Joffrey and Tommen would have headed down to the event already, no doubt. Cersei smiled fondly at her golden daughter.

_All Lannister,_ she thought proudly to herself. _Not a drop of that drunken cur in her. She is perfect._

Not as perfect as Cersei herself of course, but almost.

"Good afternoon, Mother," Myrcella smiled up at her excitedly. "I am so very looking forward to the tourney. Are you?"

"Indeed, sweetling," Cersei agreed. She was too. She had organized the events, although of course she had left the details of arrangements to her servants. It would be yet another grand way to show off Cersei's skill at being queen._ That girl probably doesn't even know which fork to use for the main course,_ she sneered mentally as she thought of the wolf girl. Cersei pitied the handsome Prince Oberyn, chained to a plain-faced, boring heretic all his life.

She seated herself on the litter beside her daughter and snapped her fingers to make the bearers lift them up and begin moving. While they were carried to their box, Cersei interrogated her daughter lightly on her progress in her lessons, beaming with pride as Myrcella proudly showed her the handkerchief she had embroidered with the Lannister lion. It had two red eyes, and the motto 'Hear Me Roar' on it.

"I want to give it to Uncle Jaime as my favour for the tourney," Myrcella informed her happily. Jaime himself was just out of hearing distance, clearing the way for them. "Will he like it, do you think?"

Cersei was slightly annoyed that she would be unable to give Jaime her own favour, but she loved her daughter too much to deny her. "He shall surely win the first place, with the favour of such a wonderful princess," Cersei cooed to her middle child, as they came up to the box.

Robert was there already, unfortunately, as were their sons, the Arryn family and her father. Cersei was infuriated to see her husband ignoring their eldest son's attempts to speak with him about his future knighting. Instead of paying attention to his heir, her wonderful son, Robert was busy peering around with an unhappy frown. A goblet of wine was clutched in his meaty fist.

"Where is she, Jon?" he grunted at Lord Arryn as they walked up. The Lord Hand looked drained and tired, with dark circles under his eyes. Unsurprising, given he was run off of his feet trying to fix the mess that Robert made of everything. Cersei almost pitied him, trying to curb Robert's excesses. _She_ was far more sensible with her budget. She did not waste her money on useless things like alms for the peasants, instead reserving her money to showcase her beauty and skills.

"_The Prince_ and_ his wife _will be here shortly, I am sure," Lord Arryn replied, emphasizing the mention of Prince Oberyn and making Robert scowl.

_I suppose the little chit does have some sense in that tiny head of hers, after all, _Cersei sniffed mentally. _She is spending as little time in your presence as possible. _Cersei didn't blame the girl for that. Even without the Mark, no one would want to be groped at or lusted over by _Robert_ of all people. And when the girl compared her handsome and charming husband with him, it was probably even more disgusting.

"I understand that Prince Oberyn's niece, Lady Arianne Dayne of High Hermitage is visiting with her husband for the tourney," Lord Tywin inserted in his typical cool tone of voice. Cersei shot her father a pleasant smile as she took her seat beside her husband. "Quite likely they are greeting each other."

"Is Lady Dayne not the heiress of Dorne, Grandfather?" Myrcella inquired. "I read that somewhere. Should she not be a Princess still, despite her marriage?"

"Don't be stupid, Myrcella," Joffrey sneered at her, making her look down at her hands with red cheeks. Cersei felt a flare of annoyance towards her daughter. Did Myrcella not understand that she was a lioness, and they bowed to nobody, even another lion?

"Girls can't rule," Joffrey continued, scoffing.

Cersei clicked her tongue and gave her son a mildly chiding look. "Now, now, Joffrey dear," she tutted. "Your sister is right that Lady Dayne used to be the heiress of Dorne. However, she made an unsuitable marriage, and thus is no longer unable to fulfil that role. Let that be a lesson to you all, my children. Marry someone worthy of your hands."

"Of course, Mother," they chorused, making her smile at them.

Her wonderful lion cubs. How she loved them. She had not loved the babe Robert had gotten on her, not really. She had wanted to. But when she had looked at the boy, all she could see was Robert. And by then, she had loathed Robert already, though they had not yet been a year into their marriage. She'd been pained by her son's death, but not too much. It had been for the best, really. Robert was a fool, and a terrible king. His son would probably have been the same, even with her blood to counter it.

Just then, the Martells arrived. Cersei was pleased to note that she far outshone the simply-dressed Bastard of Winterfell, and that her own breasts were far fuller than the tiny mounds that Alyssa Snow had.

"Magnara Alyssa!" Robert exclaimed, jumping to his feet with surprising agility for a man of his girth when he saw the girl. "How lovely to see you! I had begun to think that you were not attending." He let out a chuckle.

The girl's smile was strained and her eyes darted nervously to her husband, who's eyes were stormy, in contrast to his easy grin.

"Do forgive us, Your Grace," the prince drawled. "Mine wife and I were rather _occupied_, and I am afraid I quite lost track of time." He smirked, running a hand over his wife's backside and making her flush in embarrassment, whilst Robert's expression darkened.

As her father often had to do for incompetent kings, Lord Tywin intervened to prevent a diplomatic disaster.

"Your Highnesses, might Casterly Rock express our congratulations in regards to your recent blessings?" he stated evenly. "Truly, Prince Oberyn, the Gods have been good to you."

"Oh, they have indeed," he replied coldly, his grip on the Northern girl tightening possessively. "First my eight lovely daughters, and now the most beautiful lady in Westeros is my bride with my newest daughter growing within her. How could I possibly be happier?"

"Yes, you must be delighted," Lord Tywin agreed. "What else could possibly trouble you?"

"What indeed?" the Viper repeated, a dangerous look in his eye. His wife was rigid, clutching at her skirts.

A few steps behind her stood a young woman with red hair with a bird of some sort on her shoulder. She had a full quiver and bow slung across her back, and a pair of knives on each hip. Instead of being dressed properly in a dress, she had on a pair of breeches that showed her curves off shockingly, and a tunic that fell to her thighs with a belt across her waist. The girl must have been one of those women warriors they had in the North, a spearwife. Cersei vaguely recalled that all Stark women had spearwives assigned as personal guards to them. She supposed that the redhead was Alyssa Snow's one.

Observing the tension in the royal box, the redhead subtly rested a hand on one of her knives and shifted closer to Alyssa (Cersei refused to give a _bastard_ the title of 'Princess'.)

"Prince Oberyn, Princess Alyssa, if you would sit here, please?" Lord Arryn intervened, pointing to the seats assigned. One was right beside Robert's chair, the other on the other side of it. The king's face crumpled from pleased into angry when Oberyn Martell casually seated himself beside him, separating his wife from the king.

"Are you excited to for the tourney, my magnara?" Robert asked, leaning forward to fix his gaze on the girl's small chest as he spoke. Her voice was cautiously polite when she replied.

"I am very interested to see it, Your Grace," she claimed. "We do not have such events in the North. Our contests involve things such as horse racing instead."

"Yes, I recall Ned saying such," Lord Arryn said, before Robert could insult the Dornish even more by continuing his rudeness with the prince and his wife. "I believe he said they were a waste of coin and revealed martial secrets, did he not?"

"Yes, I expect so," she admitted. "We are a private people, us Northerners. We do our best to keep our culture and traditions private, to preserve them."

"Yes indeed," Lord Tywin agreed, his eyes studying her sharply. "In all my years of ruling as Warden of the West, I cannot say I have heard more than a sparse few pieces of information in regards to the lives of your people."

"Well then," the girl met his gaze with a disrespectful lack of fear in her eyes. "We are succeeding, are we not?"

A tense silence filled the box, before the trout that Lord Arryn was chained to by marriage spoke.

"How are my nieces and nephews, Princess Alyssa?" Lysa Arryn inquired. Thank the Seven, the manwoman hadn't brought her son with her. Who fed her child from her breast at the age of _five_, for the love of the gods? Her son was a weakling, unfit to rule as the Warden of the East. The opposite of Cersei's precious Joffrey, who would be the perfect king.

"They are well, Your Ladyship," Alyssa replied softly. "Arya is delighted to be at Dorne, she has always been fascinated by Queen Nymeria. Sansa has just gone to stay with the Mormonts for her fostering, and Bran will soon be leaving to foster with the Reeds at Greywater Watch. I received a letter from Robb just two days' past, wherein he informed me that Father is beginning to negotiate his own marriage, now that mine is done."

"Really?" Lady Arryn pressed. "To whom? My sister has said nothing to me of it."

The bastard's expression grew even more strained, while Prince Oberyn's eyes darkened further. Of course, most of Westeros knew that Ned Stark had set aside his wife by now, and that both Dorne and the Winter Lands had cut off trade with the Tullys. It could not be coincidence. Lady Catelyn had clearly done something to anger the Marked couple and their families. Cersei was eager to learn what.

"Lady Jonelle Cerwyn, the daughter of one of our bannermen," the Princess murmured in reply. "Robb is well-pleased, for he is quite fond of her."

"Catelyn will be terribly disappointed," Lady Arryn smirked, her eyes glinting in satisfaction. "She had such high hopes for her children's matches."

Cersei scowled, knowing what the woman meant by that. But if anybody thought she would let her precious Joffrey marry the eldest trueborn Stark girl, they were as mad as Aerys.

"My father has always been determined that we would marry someone trustworthy," was the girl's even response.

"Well, I suppose the Gods had other plans for you," Robert said, burping as he took a swig of his wine. "A maid such as you deserves the best match possible."

"I could not have been more highly honoured, Your Grace," she answered, while her husband glowered. He began to speak, but she reached out to clutch at his wrist. He grasped her palm and turned it over, lifting her hand to his lips to drop a kiss on it.

"Let the battle begin!" the Master of Events cried, breaking the tension in the royal box and making them all turn towards the field.


	28. Catelyn 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT. **

**Chapter Twenty-Seven**

**Catelyn Two**

_**The Red Keep: 16th October, 297 After Conquest**_

They arrived on the morning of the tourney's first day. The city was filled with people of all ages and ranks, eager for the chance to lay eyes on the Marked Prince and his bride. But despite their late arrival and the amount of visitors, the Tullys were the Lord Paramounts of the Trident. Lord Hoster was goodfather to the Hand of the King and the Magnar of the Winter Lands. They should have been granted rooms in the Red Keep immediately, even if another, lesser, family had to be tossed out on the streets to make room for them.

Instead, they were utterly humiliated.

"What do you mean, there is no room for us?" Lord Hoster barked at the castle seneschal, Barth Lannys.

The Westerlands man looked unimpressed and uncowed by the sickly lord's anger. "I mean exactly that, milord," he replied impertinently. "There is no room for you here. The keep is full. You ought to have arrived earlier, I am afraid."

"I am the Lord Paramount of the Trident!" Lord Hoster barked, cheeks flushed in anger. "My goodson is the Hand of the King!"

The sensechal shrugged. "Try an inn," he suggested. "I am certain that you shall find some lodgings. If you would excuse me, I must go and see to arrangements for this evening's feast." With that and a bow, he was gone.

Lord Hoster shot a stony look at Catelyn, who clutched anxiously at her blue skirts. Clearly, her father blamed her for this.

"Can we not stay with Lysa as her guests?" Catelyn suggested timidly. She was still unused to being on the receiving end of her father's wrath. It had always been Lysa who was the disappointment, while Catelyn had been praised and petted. She disliked this change very much.

"I wrote to her already," Lord Hoster explained curtly. "But she claims that their guest rooms are being re-done. No doubt, her husband has forbidden her to allow us to stay with them, so as to avoid being more disgraced by their association with us than necessary."

Catelyn flinched and looked at her knees. Was it really on her husband's instructions that Lysa had refused to let them stay with her or had she done so herself? She had never forgiven either their father or Catelyn for the moon tea incident, Catelyn knew it from the coldness in her letters.

But what else could Catelyn have done after learning of Lysa's pregnancy than tell their father? And what choice did Lord Hoster have but to make her drink the moon tea? He had needed to preserve her honour, the honour of the family. He had made them both the best matches possible, to the rulers of the North and the Vale, second only to the King in their power due to their influence over King Robert. It was a life most women could only dream of, yet Lysa seemed so very unhappy with her lot. But it had been _necessary_. Their father could not have known that Lysa's body would be damaged by her drinking the moon tea too late. (A treacherous voice whispered in the back of her mind that everyone knew that drinking moon tea past the third month of pregnancy was dangerous. It reminded her that the maester had warned their father of the danger, and he had dismissed it, insisting he would not allow one of his daughters to bear a bastard and disgrace their family. It reminded Cat how she had simply watched as the guards pinned Lysa down while Lord Hoster forced her to drink the tea, how her younger sister had cried out for Catelyn to help her and she had done nothing.)

"You," Lord Hoster barked at one of their attendants. "Go and find lodgings for my daughter and I while the rest of us go to the Tower of the Hand. We can visit with Lysa and break our fast. She will not refuse to host us for a few hours, at any rate."

"Yes, my lord," the guard bowed and ran off.

"Do you realize now, daughter," Lord Hoster hissed at her as their litter-bearers lifted them up again and began making their way towards the Arryn's rooms. "What your foolishness has done to our family?"

Catelyn stayed quiet, even as she mutinously thought: _'Tis not __**my **__fault. 'Twas The Bastard who did this. Not __**me**__._

* * *

It was nearly evening before Catelyn had the chance to see her stepdaughter. Her father had informed her that The Bastard was resting, having left the tourney early due to a headache. Her husband had apparently left his wife to lie down while he sparred with some of his men. Catelyn had not asked how her father had known that.

She couldn't believe that The Bastard was with child already. Why would the Mother grant her a babe? Why were the Gods being so generous to the blasted girl who had been the constant reminder of Catelyn's humiliation?

_It will not be a son, _Catelyn tried to reassure herself as she made her way to the apartments where the Dornish were staying._ I got pregnant on my wedding night, and gave Ned the perfect heir. Robb is handsome, clever and strong. He will make a great Lord Paramount of the Winter Lands. The Bastard will give her husband nought but girls, if she manages even that much. Regardless of how the Dornish act, all men want sons to inherit their lands. When she fails to provide him with a male heir, her marriage will fall to pieces, the same way she destroyed mine. The soulbond will keep them together for the rest of their lives, but it does not guarantee happiness. The lack of sons and inability to bed other women will make him resent her, as Ned always resented me for not being his precious Ashara Dayne. But given what I have heard of the Viper, he will not do her the mercy of pretending not to wish for another, as Ned did for me._

The thought of The Bastard sharing her pain and humiliation cheered her slightly. Only slightly, however, and only for a moment. The knowledge of what she was about to do worsened her mood again, and she gripped her skirts tightly as she made her way to the rooms.

Outside the door leading to the Dornish apartments were a pair of Dornishmen, who straightened and stopped their light conversation at the sight of her approaching.

"Lady Tully," one of them said, with a shallow bow. Catelyn felt her cheeks grow hot with a mixture of embarrassment and fury.

She was Magnara Stark, Lady Paramount of the Winter Lands! It did not matter that Ned had set her aside, or that the Northerners had always refused to recognize her status and her husband had never put them in their place properly for it. She had made vows to Magnar Eddard Stark in a sept, before witnesses from both the Riverlands and the North. She was the mother of four of his children, including his heir! She was Magnara Catelyn Stark, and she would be so until the end of her days. Nothing could change that, for Ned had not gone so far as to send a letter to the High Septon seeking an annulment, and she was sure that, once his anger had cooled, she could bring him back to her.

"What can we do for you, milady?" the guard continued, before she could snap her true title at him.

She raised her chin, reminding herself that she was a lady of two Great Houses and far above the Dornish savage. "I would speak to the B-, the Princess Alyssa," she stated, hastily correcting herself before she could address the girl the way she always did in her mind.

The pair exchanged loaded glances before the one who hadn't spoken turned and slipped inside the door. He exited a few moments later, looking displeased as he held the door open for her.

"The Princess will see you," he informed Catelyn curtly. "However His Highness Prince Oberyn demanded that his wife repose, so it shall have to be a quick conversation."

"Of course, I shall not take up my stepdaughter's time," Catelyn replied, choosing to use the title of stepdaughter both to remind the guards of just who she was and also because it was not so infuriating. Oh, it angered her still, to know that her husband had a child younger than Cat's eldest with another woman.

But that The Bastard was a princess and a magnara was simply _enraging_. Yet again Catelyn thought of how, if any of Ned Stark's daughters should be a princess, it ought to be Sansa. Sansa who was so ladylike and polite, even if she used a knife and worshipped the false tree gods. Catelyn didn't like it, but in all other ways (save for music. Her beautiful daughter was completely tone deaf, regrettably) Sansa was the perfect lady. She deserved to make the best match possible, yet Ned probably intended for her to marry one of his bannermen, despite the fact that no Winter Lander house was particularly notable.

Catelyn hid the thoughts that were playing through her head behind a gracious smile as she was led into the sitting room. Inside, her stepdaughter was sitting in a simple dress, bare of any make-up or jewellery (save for her Marriage Bracelet), surrounded by her ladies and several piles of fabric. That blasted Warg Guard of hers, Ygritte, was the only girl not sewing. Instead, she was carving some arrows. As was usual for the Northerners' weapons, the spearwife was carefully carving in runes that were supposed to guarantee accuracy, sharpness, speed and other such things. Heresy, that's what it was. The girl damned her soul more with every rune.

The direwolf (and how gleeful everyone in the North had been when one of the new direwolves had been an _albino_. In the eyes of the First Men, albinos of any species were special, with their weirwood-white skin and eyes the colour of red sap. But yet again, the albino wolf had not chosen one of Cat's babes, instead going straight for The Bastard. Oh why, why did the Gods bless the girl so?) was sprawled in front of the fireplace, but it opened an eye and growled at Catelyn. She resisted the urge to shudder. The damn wolves had always disliked her, and it had only worsened things for her in the North. Ned had been furious with her when she had tried to convince him to ban the animals from the inside of the keep.

"Lady Catelyn," Alyssa met her gaze with a boldness she had rarely dared to show her as a child. "What a surprise. I apologize for the mess. My ladies and I are sewing some blankets and such, to hand out in the city whilst we are here. Please, do sit down."

Ygritte glared at her shamelessly as she sat down on an armchair after one of the Dornish ladies moved a bundle of orange wool off of it.

"Do you know my ladies, Lady Catelyn?" Alyssa asked. Grudgingly, Catelyn had to acknowledge that she had a gracious, ladylike air about it. _She copies me, _Catelyn thought._ For did Father not always praise me as the best of hostesses when I was still his beloved daughter, not yet set aside by my husband?_

"I am afraid I cannot recall all of their names, much to my regret," Catelyn replied.

"Of course, you were quite busy at Winterfell," the girl said mildly. Her eyes flashed and the wolf growled softly. "Calm, Ghost," Alys said to her pet, without turning her gaze from Catelyn. "Well, my lady, allow me to introduce you to my retinue. This is Lady Alayne Ladybright, who is niece to the Lady Treasurer of Sunspear and my chief lady-in-waiting. She was not at Winterfell, so this is the first time you have met, I believe."

"Indeed, though I have heard much of you, Lady Catelyn," Lady Alayne's eyes were cold and sharp as she inclined her head to Catelyn, who stiffened in discomfort.

"A pleasure, Lady Alayne," she answered. As she spoke, she smoothed out her skirt over her knees and ensured that her ankles were crossed and that she sat in a properly ladylike pose. She spotted the Mormont girl with one leg over the other, causing her skirts to lift up and show her ankles! An absolute scandal, but she knew from bitter experience that were she attempt to give the girl advice, to warn that acting so would damage her reputation and marriage prospects, she would be soundly ignored.

"And these are Ladies Jeyne and Jennelyn Fowler," Alys continued, gesturing to each lady as she named them. "And of course, my Northern ladies, Wynafryd Manderly, Gella Borrell, Lyra Mormont, Serena Whitewolf, and Maege Seastark. Rosael is part of my household also, but she has gone out to get something for us to eat. And of course I do not need to introduce you to Ygritte. You have known her since we were children."

"Yes, how lovely to see you again, Ygritte," Catelyn stated, after clearing her dry throat.

The Free Folk woman scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Sure it is," she sneered. Alys shot her a chiding look as Catelyn felt her cheeks go red again, but Ygritte simply ignored it.

"I wish to speak with you, Sn-Alys," Catelyn went on stubbornly. Family, Duty, Honour. She would not let the Winter Landers beat her. "Privately, if you would be so gracious."

Alys gave her a long look, not replying, whilst her ladies stiffened.

"I am afraid that would not be acceptable, Your Ladyship," Lady Alayne declared firmly. "We are under strict instructions from His Highness to have _at least_ two attendants with the Princess at all times. We could not leave her, even with you."

_Especially with you,_ Catelyn heard what went unsaid. By the Seven, did everyone know of the rift between herself and Alyssa? Had The Bastard spread it far and wide in some form of revenge against Catelyn for treating her as she had deserved instead of doting on her the way Ned had? Or mayhaps it had been the Prince, as he had been quite furious at her.

"Very well then," Cat replied stiffly.

"What is it you wish to discuss with me, Lady Catelyn?" Alys asked, putting her sewing to the side and giving Cat an expectant look.

"I have, a request, for you," Catelyn forced the words out. The stoic expressions on the Northernwomen's faces turned outraged, while the Dornish also seemed displeased.

"A request?" Alyssa repeated. "Well, if I am able to help you in some manner, I shall. But you understand, as you always reminded myself and my sisters, my power is only that which my lord husband gives me. If I speak to him of it and he refuses, I must of course submit to his will."

Catelyn gritted her teeth and clenched her fists to keep from slapping the impertinent girl, while the ladies smirked smugly and Ygritte outright chuckled. Even the blasted direwolf seemed to have an amused look in its' red eyes. Catelyn had always hated how intelligent the warg animals seemed. It was unnatural and unnerving.

"Are you aware, Princess," Catelyn began, forcing herself to retain her composure and ignore the disrespect, something she had become practiced at as Lady of the Winter Lands. "That your father, my lord husband-"

"Magnar Stark is not your husband, Lady Tully," Serena interrupted. "You married him in the ways of the New Gods, not the Old, and have no Marriage Bracelets. The marriage of a member of the First Men's religion is unrecognized unless 'tis done before a heart tree, according to our customs."

Catelyn couldn't prevent her anger from seeping into her tone this time, but she stubbornly continued on. Family, Duty, Honour. "Magnar Stark, as well as Prince Doran of Dorne, have both ended their trading contracts with the Riverlands. In addition, my children will not reply to my letters to them."

Her father had told her not to mention her children, but Cat couldn't help it. They needed her! She feared how deeply they would slip into the influence of the false gods without her to encourage them towards the Seven.

The Bastard gave her ladies a look, seeming to silently instruct them to stay quiet, then turned to Catelyn. Her expression was even, and Cat could not tell what the girl was thinking.

"I am sorry that my siblings have not written to you, milady," she murmured, and Cat would almost think she was genuine, were it not for the voice of her old septa in the back of her mind, whispering of how bastards were natural liars and not to be trusted. "But I have not spoken to them of you since you went to stay with your own lord father, so I cannot say why.

As for the trade, I know not why you have spoken to _me_ of it. 'Tis the decision of Prince Doran and my lord father whom the people of their kingdoms trade with. They do not seek my opinion on the matter, nor would I have one, as I know nought of such things. They are both good rulers, who always seek to do what is best for their kingdoms and their people. If they have decided against trading with the Riverlands, then I am certain that they must have a good reason for it."

Cat felt her fragile hold on her temper snap and she surged to her feet. "Oh you impertinent little chit!" she cried. "Would that Ned had given in to my pleas to send you away as a babe! The Gods will not bless you, you know! That babe-"

"Do not say another word about my child!" Alyssa snapped, jumping to her feet. "You who calls herself a pious woman even as she prays for my barrenness! Remove yourself from my rooms at once!"

"You are at fault for this!" Catelyn accused The Bastard. "You are the reason my family is disgraced, that my husband has set me aside! I am sure that you are the one who turned my children against me! Do you feel satisfaction, knowing that you have ruined my family?"

"I feel no satisfaction for I have done no such thing! You turned them against you yourself!" she cried in response. "You, who declared to all who could hear you that you wanted my babe to be born dead! You, who persists in saying the Gods are against me when the Name on my wrist and the babes growing in my stomach prove otherwise!"

They didn't notice the door opening abruptly and Prince Oberyn stalking in, just in time to hear his wife's final sentence.

"Babe_s_?" Catelyn repeated in horror. No, she had to have misheard. The Seven would not be so cruel to her. 'Twas impossible.

"Aye," Alyssa confirmed proudly, resting her hand over her stomach. "I am having twins."

"Are you certain, my darling?" they spun in surprise to face the prince, who looked torn between delight at his wife's declaration and fury directed at Catelyn.

She nodded at him, smiling and he was quick to pull her into his arms and kiss her. He pulled away long enough to give Catelyn a vicious glare that made her shudder in fear at his rage, directed entirely at her.

"Lady Tully," he said, in dangerous tone. "Remove yourself from these rooms immediately. And never seek to contact or speak with my wife again, 'else I shall take action, is that understood?"

Shuddering in fear and fury, Catelyn fled, not even bothering to pause and curtsey to them.


	29. Alyssa 7

**Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT. Thanks to all my readers who are enjoying this. Read, enjoy and review!**

**Chapter Twenty-Eight**

**Alyssa Seven**

_**The Red Keep: 16th October, 297 After Conquest**_

Oberyn didn't bother to wait for Catelyn to leave before he picked her up and carried Alys to their bedchamber, peppering her face with kisses. His delight at her revelation of them having twins was plain both on his expression and through their mental bond.

He sat down on the bed, perching her on his lap and cupping the sides of her face in his hands. "When did you find out?" he asked her, leaning in so that their foreheads were touching.

Giddy with happiness and pride at finally standing up to her childhood tormentor, Alys took the initiative and pressed a quick, but intense, kiss to his lips before pulling back to reply.

"I have had my suspicions for a short while," she confessed. "But I was not certain until yesterday afternoon. Rosael checked, you recall that she was a midwife before my father engaged her as my wet nurse? She delivered me, in fact. At any rate, Rosael checked and she is certain that there are two babes in me. That's why I have been growing so quickly, and been so sick. I am having double the symptoms."

He beamed and kissed her again. Alys giggled and returned the kiss, shifting to make him groan and grow hard.

"Darling," he moaned. "You are truly a gift from the gods themselves."

"You are full of false flattery," Alys shot back, fumbling to get his shirt off as he reached for her stays. "But I am happy to hear that you are pleased, my love."

"Alys, you know that I love you, do you not?" Oberyn suddenly asked, stopping their undressing of the other and reaching to lift her gaze to him.

Alys felt her glee and lust falter, fading into uncertainty. "You love Ellaria still though," Alys pointed out. She felt her brow crinkle. "I know that you would prefer that you still had her with you, not me."

His lips pursed and he sighed, pulling her closer to him so she had to crane her lips to see his expression. His emotions were a jumble, with a great deal of sadness and regret and she was at a loss as to know what to say to comfort him. How had the atmosphere changed so suddenly? He had been in an excellent mood since meeting her cousins for lunch, even when Arianne had arrived and they had spent half-an-hour enduring the presence of the king and the Lannisters. Now he seemed troubled and she was at a loss as to why.

"It's alright," she offered. "I am still happier than I ever expected to be. I don't mind that you wish for someone else."

He sighed again, briefly closing his eyes. Alys bit her bottom lip in distress as she noticed his distress flare up again.

"Oberyn-" she began, uncertain how to ease his guilt.

"Alyssa, I _do_ love you," he insisted, opening his eyes and looking her firmly in the eye. "I love you very much, in fact."

The expression he wore was intense, and Alys found herself wanting to look away. Unfortunately, he was gripping the sides of her jaw too firmly to allow her to do so (though not harsh enough to bruise).

"I am not good at this, apparently," Oberyn said ruefully. "In our early days together, Ellaria would get so exasperated or upset with me and my foolish actions that several times she took Lia and Obella and left to return to Hellholt. I must confess, I am grateful that our bond and the travel keeps you from being able to flee back to Winterfell to your family, and not just because I genuinely believe that your father and brothers would happily mutilate me for upsetting you."

"Oberyn-" Alys repeated, still not sure what to say. "I would not leave you if I was able to," she offered. "I am your wife, my place is by your side."

He gave a wry smile, leaning down to touch their foreheads together again. "Exactly, you are my wife," he murmured to her. "And I do love you, Alyssa. I truly, genuinely do. Yes, this is not the life I planned or even desired. Yes, I still have love for and grieve for Ellaria. I always will, for she was my anchor in some of my darkest days, and she gave me four beautiful, strong daughters whom I adore with all my heart."

"I know that," Alys told him softly, hoping he didn't feel the faint hurt she felt. She certainly did not begrudge him his love for Ellaria, nor his pain over her loss. That didn't mean it didn't hurt to hear her husband and soulmate speaking of his love for another woman. One he had _chosen_, not been forced into marriage with for the sake of fulfilling a godly mission. She had quickly figured out that Oberyn resented being made to do anything against his will.

He grimaced. "I do not deserve you, Alys," he stated, using the shortened version of her name for once. "And just because I will always love and miss Ellaria, does not mean that I do not love you as well. It does not mean that I value these two daughters you are carrying for me any less than the four that she bore me."

Alys was silent, unable to think of any words to say. She bit her lip as Oberyn continued to speak, his lips pressed against her temple.

"I love your compassionate nature the most of everything about you," he said to her, tugging his fingers through her hair and undoing the loose braid in the process. "I had always believed that my sister Elia was the most caring woman to ever live, but you surpass even her with how you care for everyone, regardless of age, rank or nationality. You amaze me, you truly do. Were you a follower of the Seven, I would say that you were godstouched, by the Maiden's own grace. Mayhaps even the Maiden made flesh.

I love how, despite your gentle nature, you are a fiercesome fighter. Soon enough, you will be able to beat me easily in a spar. It relieves me to know that, should you ever be caught alone by an enemy, you would still be able to defend yourself. 'Twould shatter my heart into a thousand pieces if I were ever to suffer the loss of you.

Your dedication to helping people, no matter what they require, your determination to fulfil your duty, it is inspiring, my darling. It truly is.

And you are so beautiful, to top it all off. You insist that I am biased, but I speak nought but the truth. Your hair is beautiful, thick Rhoynish curls that I could play with for days if you allowed me to. Your eyes are so luminous and thoughtful, I sometimes think that I could get lost in their depths. Your beautiful skin, utterly flawless. I swear that you fit perfectly in my arms, as if they were shaped purely to hold you.

I loathe it when other men _dare_ to look at you. I know it makes you uncomfortable when I make insinuations or touch you intimately in public, but I cannot help myself. I do not know if the bond makes me so or I simply do not wish to share you with the world, but I am so very possessive when it comes to you. I want the whole world to know that the most beautiful, kindest and loveliest woman in the world, dead or alive, is_ mine_, and mine alone.

I love you, Alyssa, I really do. I am sorry that I foolishly allowed myself to believe that the bond meant you knew that already, and did not require me to say the words out loud. Even if it were so, you deserve better than for me to take you and your feelings for granted in such a way.

I would _never_ trade you and our life together for Ellaria. If I could, yes I would still have her, but I would have her as a_ part_ of our bond. But I would not choose her over you, Alys._ Never._"

Alys felt her bottom lip tremble and her eyes well up with tears that spilled over throughout her husband's impromptu speech. She buried her head in the crook of his head when he let go of her jaw so that he could caress her back, tears making his shoulder wet.

"I love you," he whispered in her ear, emphasizing his words with a kiss to just underneath her lobe. "I love you, so very much Alyssa. I am sorry that I did not say so earlier."

"You need not apologize," she sniffed. "And I love you too," she added, pulling away to wipe her tears from her cheeks.

"That's good," he answered lightly. "Because 'twould be rather embarrassing for me if I made such a speech in regards to how much I adore you, only for you to reply that you were merely fond of my company, would it not?"

Alys let out a watery laugh and leaned against his solid chest, closing her itching eyes to soothe them. "Let us skip the feast tonight, please," she requested tiredly. "I have not the energy to endure His Grace's attentions tonight."

Oberyn scowled and nodded. "Gladly," he promised. Then he rested a hand on her belly and rubbed it gently. She felt a soft smile spread across her face as he adjusted their positions so that she was lying down on the bed while he sat so that his head was level with her stomach.

"I love both of you girls so very much, too, you know," he murmured to her abdomen. "I cannot wait to meet you. I bet that you shall both be as beautiful and caring as your mother, will you not? Suitors will come from far and wide to court you, but I fear that none of them could ever be good enough for such lovely girls, hmm? I shall have to have a special spear made, just for fending off all of the audacious ingrates you dare to believe themselves good enough for my girls, will I not my darling little wolf-cubs?"

"What if one of them is a boy?" Alys asked him softly, thinking of the reoccurring dream of two children, one boy and one girl, playing together happily.

Oberyn levered himself up to see her, reaching out to push away a lock of hair from her face. "You know, my love, that I need no son, yes?" he asked her. "We discussed this, remember? I do not care for your ability to give me heirs, I love you for _yourself_. Your value is far more than your womb to me, I swear it."

"I know," Alys agreed, feeling his sincerity through their link. A part of her wondered how anybody had a happy marriage without the ability to feel each other's emotions through their minds. Or maybe that was the reason so many people were miserable in their matches. They couldn't understand each other. Of course, as their earlier conversation had shown, even a mental link didn't prevent problems entirely.

"But," Alys hesitated, thinking how to phrase her thoughts without sounding ridiculous. "I keep having a dream," she admitted, casting her eyes to the side to avoid his patient gaze. "Of two children, the same age. A boy and a girl. They have my eyes and your colouring. I just- I am no greenseer, but I just feel so certain that 'tis real."

Oberyn looked contemplative, then bent to press a kiss to her stomach. "Well, 'twould not be an _un_pleasant surprise," he mused. He grinned at her, then moved up to pull her into his arms for a passionate kissing session. "If we have a boy, do you wish to name him for your father?"

Alys inhaled shakily, overwhelmed with love and gratefulness for her husband. Typically, it would be expected to name her children for their father's family, not for her own. How many men were so good and caring, she wondered.

"The Dornish people have two names, do you not?" she asked. "The use name and the, uhm, the middle name I believe it is called?"

"Aye," he confirmed.

"Then what about using my father's name for our son's middle name," she suggested. "And a Dornish name for his given one? To honour both sides of his heritage."

"A brilliant idea," Oberyn agreed. "And for our daughter also?"

"Could her middle name be Lyanna?" Alys asked softly, thinking of the mother she had never been given the chance to know who had given up her own life so that Alys could live.

_I do not wish to die, I must confess,_ Lyanna had written in her letter to Alys. _But if my death means that you live, that you grow up to be the beautiful, beloved and gracious queen that I dream of, then I can die happily, for I know that I lived a worthy life by bringing you into the world._

He looked at her curiously, but nodded. "Lyanna would be a fine middle name for our girl," he declared. "What given names should we bestow upon them do you think, my darling?"

Alys felt her lips curve up into a smile, for she had already chosen the names she wanted to bestow on her first two babes with Oberyn. When she told him, he leaned in to press another kiss, this one gentle and loving, against her lips.

"Perfect, my love," he murmured. "Absolutely perfect."


	30. Ashara 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT. Thank you again to all my wonderful readers. I think in a about a week I'll start working on the other story too, depending on which people want most. As for now: Read, enjoy and review!**

**Chapter Twenty-Nine**

**Ashara One**

_**Winterfell: 17th October, 297 After Conquest**_

Ashara smiled as she traced Ned's sleeping face with her gaze. It had been years since she had seen him last. He had not borne the vicious scar that marred the left side of his face when last she saw him, and he was aged by grief from his losses and the stresses of ruling the Winter Lands now. There was grey in his hair. But he was still her Ned. The previous night had been as wonderful as their first, the night she had clung to desperately over the years, anchoring herself to life with memory of his tender kisses and loving grey eyes that were cold to strangers but had always been so very tender and loving towards her.

Gods, how she loved him. And _finally_, after two and a half decades without him, fifteen years of thinking she would never again lay eyes on the love of her life, she was with him again. Ashara had wept the day Varys sent her a letter releasing her from her service to him and informing her that Catelyn Tully was being set aside by Ned. Ashara was vaguely curious as to what terrible thing the trout had done, to make the best, most honourable man alive send her away in disgrace, but only vaguely. Most of all, Ashara was overjoyed.

She had meant it, when she told her beloved that she would have been happy to be his mistress, so long as she was with him. Even if she had been forced to live in some isolated keep, with only fleeting visits from her lover. As long as she was with Ned, as long as she knew that she held his heart, she would be content. But she knew Ned too well to think he would ever agree to allow such a thing. He was the most honourable of men. He would not allow her to be perceived as a whore, and his wife to be humiliated.

The thought of Catelyn Tully being Ned's wife, claiming_ Ashara's_ rightful place at his side, made her mood darken as it always did. For months she had hidden in Essos during the Rebellion, waiting and praying to the Old Gods and the New that Ned's side would win.

Perhaps it made her a traitor, given the fact that her homeland had fought for the Targaryens and she had wanted them to lose. But her love for Ned was stronger than her patriotism, and she had been as eager for Rhaegar and Aerys' deaths as anyone after what they had done to Elia. She wished her dear friend had been spared, but Ashara was certain that Ned had not agreed with what happened. Had he arrived in the capital in time, Elia and her babes would have been saved, she was certain.

Ashara had been devastated by the news of Elia and her children's brutal deaths, even as she rejoiced at the thought of returning home. It had come only shortly before the news of Robb Stark's birth, and Catelyn Tully marrying Ned. And soon after, news of how Arthur had fallen giving Queen Rhaella time to flee Dragonstone, only for the gentle, abused queen to die birthing Princess Daenerys, had come. Ashara had been distraught by the triple blows, coming only a few short moons after her sweet Lyarra's death. She had contemplated throwing herself into the sea, but had never found the courage to do so, even at the height of her despair.

Instead, she had spent years drifting around the Free Cities, acting as one of Varys' little birds and torturing herself with thoughts of Ned falling in love with his redheaded fish wife. And no doubt Catelyn had fallen for Ned too. How could she not? He was so kind, so gentle despite his superb skill with his sword.

When news had arrived that Ned was setting aside the trout that Ashara so loathed, she had felt as if she had been reborn. She had only met Catelyn Tully once, at the disastrous Harrenhal tourney, but Ashara hadn't liked her, and had felt regret that funny and friendly Brandon was to be tied to such a haughty woman for his whole life. Catelyn hadn't been able to hide her disdain for Ashara's Dornish heritage, and it had been clear to Ashara that she would not respect the traditions and culture of the North, especially when she had mentioned that her wedding would be in a sept.

_She would never accept Ned and his people like I would, _Asha thought to herself for perhaps the millionth time since she had heard the awful news, despite the fact that it was over now and she was with Ned again, Catelyn Tully Gods knew where. _**I **__was the one to suggest my converting to the Old Faith when I married Ned. He said that I didn't have too, that he would be happy for me to stay a follower of the Seven, but I __**wanted**__ to. I know how important his Gods are to him, to his people. I wanted to prove how much I love him. I wanted to marry him before a heart tree, and have a direwolf with stars for eyes wrapped around my wrist to show all the world that I was his and he was mine. _

She felt a thumb run over her cheek and started, realizing that Ned had woken as she had been lost in thought. She smiled widely at him, feeling as if she could glow with delight at his answering grin. The scar made him a bit fearsome to look at, but how could she possibly fear him when he looked at her as if she were the Maiden made flesh?

"Good morning, my shining star," he greeted her, leaning up to grip the back of her head (always so gentle with her, as if he feared to hurt her. As if she were a treasure. Gods, how she blessed the day her father and Magnar Rickard had made her betrothal to this wonderful man.) as he kissed her. She kissed him back deeply, until her lungs screamed for air and she was forced to pull away.

"Good morning," she murmured, smiling slyly at him. "Did you rest well?"

He gave her a hooded look that drew a coquettish giggle from her lips.

"I rested better than I have in fifteen years," he replied. "I will break my fast with my sons in an hour and a half. Will you join us?"

Join them and meet his sons. Ashara felt a jolt of nervous dread at the thought of them.

_They should have been mine, _she thought to herself. _Ned's heir should have been Artos, for my brother and his ancestor who fought the wilding invasion, his younger boy Cregan, as we had decided. His daughters ought to have been Dyanna or mayhaps Alarra, as we had agreed. Not Lyarra, though. _Ashara had had a Lyarra already, and her heart still ached for her sweet babe, stolen from the world too soon. She did not want another to replace her girl._ Maybe I will still be able to have a Dyanna or an Artos,_ she thought hopefully._ I am only twenty-and-nine, I still have my moons' blood. I could give him a babe, with grey eyes and brown hair and my features. I could._

Ashara knew that Ned did not love her for her ability to give him children, but she wanted to, so much. And a small part of her, the part that had been taught, as all women were, that her worth was in her childbearing ability, feared that he would send her away, without a babe to bind them together. It was silly, of course. Catelyn had given him four children, yet he had still sent her away. If he no longer loved her as he once had, if he wanted to send her away, clearly a babe would not stop him.

_Do not let it happen,_ she begged the Gods. _Anything, please, just let me stay with him_. _I would die of grief, were I to lose him again. Please, I cannot bear it._

"Asha?" Ned broke her of her musings again. She hid a wince, seeing the concern on his face. She put on a smile and nodded.

"Tell me of your children," she requested. She needed to make them like her, at the least, for Ned lit up with pride and love at the thought of his children. His children _needed _to like her, or he would send her away and the heartbreak of his rejection would destroy what was left of her.

"My eldest is Robb who is four-and-ten," Ned informed her, smiling. "He is a strong, clever boy, with a mind for ruling and strategy, though my Alys is a better swordfighter than he, much to his dismay. He fostered with the Karstarks for two years, and feels he has a great deal to prove. Catelyn did not endear herself to my people, and it damaged our children's standings, unfortunately. But, although he does not realize it, they are pleased enough with him now that he has bonded with both a raven and a direwolf. I am in the process of negotiating his marriage to Lady Jonelle Cerwyn."

Ashara listened carefully, determined to be as well-armed with information as possible to make herself pleasing to her lover's children.

"Next is my sweet Alys, who is four months younger than Robb," he hesitated, as Asha frowned in bemusement. Ned leaned up, pressing a kiss to her ear and whispering into it. "I will explain all to you later, in the Vault where there is no risk of being overheard."

She nodded faintly as she turned to kiss his cheek, concerned by his words. What was so important about his daughter that he would even fear being overheard in Winterfell? She realized, obviously, that Alys could not be his trueborn child. A part of her was hurt that he had been with two other women so soon after her birth, but Ashara was sensible. Not only did Ned think she was dead at the time, but he had just lost his brother and father, his sister had been kidnapped and raped and he was thurst abruptly into a position he hadn't been prepared for properly, and was fighting a war. He had clearly been in need of comfort, and she would not blame him for it.

And anyway, Ashara already knew she would love Ned's children. After all, they were part of him. She could not claim to love Ned while hating his children. She felt free to hate their mother fiercely, however.

She shifted, making herself more comfortable. "She is the one who is Marked with Oberyn, correct?" Asha asked. "You must have been pleased."

"Aye," Ned nodded. "I am honoured that my daughter is Marked, though I worry for her. I can't say I am pleased with the match, though your stories of him from when you were children helped reassure me that he would protect and care for my daughter. But while no man is good enough for my girls, I regrettably must let them marry someone. Though, if Arya has her way, she will be an unmarried explorer for her whole life, or perhaps a sellsword."

Ashara laughed at that. "She sounds as if she is filled with the wolf's blood," she stated, recalling how the Starks and their people had referred to Brandon and Lyanna's wildness.

"She is," Ned smiled fondly. "Arya is the youngest of my three girls, and sometimes I think that the Rhoynar beliefs of reincarnation must be true, and she must be Lyanna reborn. Only she is even wilder. Catelyn was already trying to make her more of a southron lady, but all Arya wants to do is fight and ride. She worships my Alys, has ever since birth. From the moment Arya was born, the only ones who could get her to calm down and do what she was supposed to were Alys and I."

"She sounds like she will do well in Dorne," Ashara murmured. She felt a tinge of homesickness for her kingdom, but she had long since made Ned her true home. Perhaps she could at last contact Allyria again, meet Edric.

Ned gave her a warm, gentle look. If they still shared the same connection as when they were young, then he surely knew her thoughts. He went on telling her of his children.

"Sansa is the most ladylike of my girls, but that hardly says much. She is very much a _Northern_ girl, though she has Catelyn's looks. Only a week ago, she left for Bear Island to foster with the Mormonts. I am hoping that Daemon Mormont, the heir to the family, and she will take a liking to each other. Of course, if they do not I will simply find another she cares for.

Gods know that Arya will probably end up deciding to marry a blacksmith and I shall have to give the lad a keep to ensure she has the lifestyle she deserves.

But my Sansa is also very fond of songs and stories. I worry about it a bit sometimes, I must confess. I fear that she will see someone high ranking with good looks, and assume they are honourable and good, only to be left bereft when they show themselves to have a cruel nature. She struggles to understand that not all people are as honourable as those she knows."

"I am sure that such a thing would not come to pass," Asha soothed him. "You would not raise fools for children."

"Aye," he murmured. "I have done my best, but I wish that I could have spent more time with them. I always spent as much time as I could with them, but my duties..." his voice trailed off. The sadness in his eyes broke Ashara's heart, and she leaned in to kiss him.

"I know that, were I to ask them, each of those children would call you the greatest father in the world," she told him firmly after pulling away. "And I am certain they are the best of children, to have you as a role model. Tell me more of them."

He gave her a loving smile and obeyed her request. "My youngest is Brandon, though we call him Bran. He is seven, and a greenseer."

"You must be so very proud of him," Ashara stated, knowing how highly honoured those born with the greensight were in the domain of the First Men.

"I am," he agreed easily. "Of all of them. Bran is very dreamy, I must confess. When he is not lost in his own mind, he is climbing like one of those Essosi monkeys. It doesn't help that his Warg Guard, Syril Snowstark, is actually bonded to one, Gods only know how it ended up here in the North. The three of them can regularly be found hanging from the rampants, racing each other to the roof."

Asha laughed at that. "They sound wonderful," she said to her beloved.

"They are worth more than the world to me," Ned replied, his eyes shining with love. Asha felt her smile wobble, and his own expression grew pained.

"Had Lyarra grown, I would have adored her just as much," he insisted softly, caressing her cheek. She leaned into the touch, closing her eyes to savour it.

"I know," she breathed, before re-opening them several moments of silence later. "Introduce me to your children," she requested with the brightest smile she could manage.

He beamed and kissed her again before helping her out of the bed.

* * *

Downstairs, the family dining room was empty, save for two young boys. One was a lad of four-and-ten, the other some years his junior. Although they both had red hair and blue eyes, Ashara could see the late Brandon Stark in Robb's cheekbones, and Rickard Stark in Bran's strong jaw. They both shared Ned's strong frame. They both gave her and Ned curious looks as she entered holding onto their father's arm.

"Father, are you well?" Robb asked as Ned took his seat after helping Asha into the seat on his left, across from his heir. "You did not attend dinner last night, and Jory said you were abed."

Ned looked slightly embarrassed, but Ashara noticed that he didn't blush as he might have when they were young. A part of her ached, hating to know that they had grown up, but not together, the way it should have been.

"Yes, Robb, I am very well," Ned stated, clearing his throat. He reached across the table and took Ashara's hand. She smiled at the two boys, trying desperately to hide her nerves and eagerness for them to like her.

"Who is this lady, Father?" Bran asked. He added in a distant voice. "I dreamed of a star falling into Winterfell just before you arrived. Are you the star I saw?"

Ashara swallowed and gave him her warmest smile. "I suppose I must be," she confirmed. "As stars are associated with my House. I am Ashara Dayne."

"Aren't you supposed to be dead?" Robb blurted out, looking stunned.

"I had to flee for my life when your uncle was arrested," Ashara explained, before Ned could start. It was her story to tell. "The woman who died in my place, she was an imposter, I know not who. But by the time it was safe to come back, Ned was married to your mother, and so I decided to stay away. Now, however, things have changed. I hope you are not displeased that I am here?"

The two looked wary, but shook their heads.

"Father is already happier than I have ever seen him be before," Bran announced. "As long as he stays happy, and you aren't mean to Alys like Mother was, or try and make us pray to the Seven, then I am happy for you to stay."

"Everyone has always spoken very highly of you, my lady," Robb added, his expression carefully schooled into neutrality. "I am honoured to know you."

_Well, it could have gone worse, _Ashara thought, as she glanced at a pleased looking Ned. They were going to give her a chance, and that's all she needed. She just needed to prove that she would not be an interloper, and that she loved their father. For his sake, she would love them too. All she needed was for them to give her a chance.


	31. Oberyn 7

**Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT. **

**Okay, guys, about the other story. I am probably gonna go for the one where fem!Jon is heiress of Winterfell and marries Oberyn to escape the Lannisters (which is going to be Ellaria/Oberyn/Jon after all, I swear the stories write themselves), because that's the one that's flowing easiest. It won't have any White Walkers in that one. Then I'll try and do the Stark sisters fleeing to Dorne seeing as the idea is so popular. The poll will close at the end of the week (btw, you can vote for two choices now). That okay with you? **

**(Adere: High Valyrian for sleek, smooth, the name of Oberyn's horse)**

**Chapter Thirty**

**Oberyn Seven**

_**The Red Keep: 21**__**st**__** October, 297 After Conquest**_

It was the fifth day of the tourney when Oberyn finally got the chance he had been waiting for so eagerly. He was at last going to joust, and thanks to some subtle 're-working' of the roster, he would be going up at against Theon Greyjoy first.

His mood was high for many good reasons, all mainly thanks to Alyssa. The alliance with the North had been more than fruitful for Dorne. The Lannisters were losing more power and his own family gaining it more by the day (the capital's smallfolk were revering Alyssa as a saint for the charity work she and her ladies had all been doing since they had first arrived), work was already beginning on both building a navy for his kingdom and training people to sail it, the Iron Bank had been paid back for their loan from the Usurper's War, and he had the loveliest, most beautiful and kindest lady in the whole of the Seven Kingdoms, possibly in the world itself, as his wife.

He was still irritated with himself for ever giving her the impression that he would ever have traded Ellaria for her. Yes, he grieved for Ellaria still. He always would, for she had loved him and kept him anchored to sanity in the aftermath of losing his sister, as well as bearing him four wonderful daughters. But that didn't mean he would ever trade Alyssa and the babes she was carrying within her to bring back his late paramour.

Save for that, the only other thing that brought down Oberyn's mood was the way the Usurper continued to lust over his soulmate and make her uncomfortable and distressed. Oberyn took a dark pleasure in tormenting the fat drunkard calling himself ruler of Westeros by publicly groping his wife, kissing her passionately, and utterly refusing to allow her to dance with anyone save for himself. He didn't care if the way he prevented Alys from being dragged into conversations with those he disliked made people call him a tyrannical husband. The relief that he felt from Alys through the bond whenever he interrupted the Stag King's attempts to speak to her (usually mentioning how much she resembled her late aunt), made it more than worth it. 'Twas not as if he had a particularly pristine reputation in the first place, anyway. His family knew the truth of him, and that was all that he cared about.

And today, Alyssa would gain her vengeance for Greyjoy's attempt to violate her in the worst possible way. He had carefully coated the tips of his lances in a poison from Essos, designed to mimic the appearance of a wound being infected. Pycelle, idiot that he was, would never realize that the heir to the Iron Islands had been poisoned.

And the death of the hostage Ironborn would undoubtedly aid their cause, as a nice benefit. The Ironborn would no longer have any reason to avoid reaping and pillaging. And of course, geography dictated that they would go for their usual target, that of the Westerlands. Mayhaps they would go for the Reach as well, but Oberyn was less than concerned about that, despite the negotiations going on to marry Quentyn to Margaery Tyrell. The Reach had the Redwyne navy to defend them, anyway.

But the Lannisters would have to withdraw many of their soldiers in the Red Keep and head back to their kingdom in order to defend their lands. The already discontented smallfolk would be even more enraged. The agents he had sent to let it quietly be known of his and his wife's mutual distaste for the Lannisters' ruling would stir the already-overflowing pot even more.

It filled Oberyn with a warm feeling to imagine the troubles the lions were going to face in the near future.

"You will be careful, will you not?" Alyssa's lips were downturned and one hand rested protectively over her abdomen, the other resting lightly against his forearm. Her entrancing violet-grey eyes were filled with anxiety. "You must recall that 'tis not solely yourself that is in danger when you are fighting now, even if you are only jousting. My ancestress Visenya Stark lost a babe to miscarriage when her soulmate Torrhen was injured in the Battle of the Wailing Willows during the War of Conquest. Promise me that you will be careful, for our babes' sakes."

He leaned forward to press a kiss against her forehead, entangling his fingers in her hair. "All will be well, my beloved," he insisted soothingly to her. "I have been champion of a thousand and one jousts and battles. 'Tis not as if I am to fight in the melee." With Alys' condition, such a risk was far too dangerous. Not even he was so reckless. Were his and Alyssa's health not linked, he would have taken great pleasure in joining the melee and taking out a few of the Lannister bannermen in the process. But he would not risk his young wife and the precious twins that she carried.

"All will be well," he repeated, sensing her distress. "Calm yourself, my sweet love. Have faith in your husband. I am feared for a reason. And of course, I will have your favour, and how could I possibly lose with the favour of a lady blessed by the gods themselves, more loving and beautiful than any other in the world?" He gave her a pointed look, for she had yet to gift him with her favour. Possibly, given this was her first time to attend a tourney, she had not thought of it.

She let out an exasperated sigh, reaching behind her to take one of her silver ribbons out of her plait. He raised his arm to her, letting her tie it around his wrist.

"You are so terribly stubborn," she complained as she tied it carefully. "More stubborn than a blizzard in the winter is dangerous. More the fool I for loving you. Promise me that you shall be careful, regardless of having my favour and winning those other tourneys. You need only be unlucky once, and you shall kill the three of us with you."

"My, you are being grim, my sweet she-wolf," he commented, taking back his hand. He stroked her cheek, picking up on her genuine worry for both him and their babes. "I promise you, my love, I shall be as careful as if I were born with common sense," he said lightly. She gave him an irritated look as he pulled her into a kiss.

"I love you, Alyssa," he told her softly once he had pulled back, cradling her loosely in his arms. "And I swear to you, not even the gods themselves could ever make me risk your or our children. Have faith in me."

"Do not let your anger at him blind you," she implored him in return. "Swear it to me."

"I swear, I will not," he agreed easily. He was eager for his turn against the young man who had tried to violate his wife and who still made her toss and turn at night every so often when she recalled the event in her dreams. But he would maintain his focus, for Alys' sake.

Daemon stuck his head in the tent. "My prince, my princess," he called to them. "Forgive my interruption, but 'tis time for Her Highness to go to the royal box and the prince to go to the yard."

"Thank you, Daemon," Oberyn nodded to his former squire, running his hand over Alyssa's hair to soothe her continuing anxiety. He could not bring himself to be exasperated with her fears, though they had been going over this repeatedly since he had confirmed the time and opponent of his first joust. Alyssa was only worried for their babes. She had accidentally read the page describing the late Lady Visenya's miscarriage of a daughter during Aegon's Conquest the other day, unaware of what she was reading until too late, and had been fussing and worrying ever since.

"I promise you, Alyssa, that all will be well," he vowed, staring deeply into her unhappy eyes. He hated to see the faint tremble in her bottom lip that she strove to cover with a typical Northern expression of stoicness. "I love you too much to risk. I would never do anything that would put you or our children at risk. _Trust_ me, my darling."

"I do," she said, through a shaky exhale. "I do. I love you as well. As do our babes."

He smiled at her, giving her one last kiss, his hand resting over her stomach and rubbing it with his thumb, before they separated and he led her out of the pavilion. He smirked in amusement seeing Ygritte growling at Ulwyk that she didn't have anything to give as a favour, and it was a ridiculous tradition in the first place. Poor Ulywk was stubbornly pursuing the spearwife, who was giving no quarter to him, though Alys swore that Ygritte really did like the Uller heir, and simply wanted him to prove himself and his devotion, a Free Folk custom. Oberyn himself had discreetly passed this information on to his old friend, who had increased his advances in response to the knowledge.

"I shall see you at the end of the joust, my darling," Oberyn said to his wife, as Ygritte grumpily gave Ulywk a piece of string that had been keeping her hair in its braid to use as her favour. The man beamed in delight as he tied it around his wrist.

"Indeed," Alyssa agreed, Ghost coming to her side. Oberyn patted the direwolf on the snout, accepting the cold nose that she pressed into his side (at less than a year old, the animal was now near to the size of a small pony). "Ygritte, shall we?"

"Great, more time around those weak, godless morons that claim to be rulers," Ygritte groused. "Just what I wanted to spend my day doing. Stupidity is not contagious, is it?"

Oberyn chuckled as Ulywk joined him, grinning proudly, whilst the women walked off, Alys pleading with Ygritte not to say such things where they could be overheard.

"I am making progress, Oberyn, I know it," Ulywk declared, showing off the frayed string. "She loves me already, I am certain."

Oberyn snorted. "You have dangerous tastes, my old friend," he answered as they started for the arena. "I would not put it past Ygritte to slit your throat in your sleep, were she displeased with your bed prowess."

"Aye, me neither," Ulywk sighed, looking dreamy. "Is she not magnificent?"

"I must confess, I have recently begun fond of dark curls and violet-grey eyes, with a sweet demeanour," Oberyn replied. "I have no desire for redheads with tastes as bloody as her hair is red. I shall leave that to you."

"I am sure your wife will be delighted to hear," Ulywk responded happily.

* * *

He sat on his sand steed, a black stallion with a chestnut mane and tail braided with orange ribbons, and stared down at his opponent. A fierce loathing erupted in his breast as he took in the young man who had brutalized the sweetest lady in the world. But he would pay for it, Oberyn would see it happen.

Greyjoy was clearly overly-confident in his abilities, his body language revealing his smugness. Oberyn was pleased to see it, for his many years of experience had taught him the value of fighting arrogant opponents. They allowed their self-confidence to blind them, leading to their deaths.

"Begin!" the Master of Ceremonies cried, and Oberyn kicked Adere into motion, charging forward with his lance at the ready.

He was disappointed when the first go ended with his lance breaking against Greyjoy's shield, though the despicable cur hadn't even managed that, his own lance utterly missing Oberyn and his own shield. The second go, he failed to knock Greyjoy from his horse, but he did succeed in his main goal of getting his poison into the boy's bloodstream, tearing through his sleeve to break the skin with his lance.

The boy's life had just become a countdown.

Finally, the third pass resulted in Oberyn knocking the heir to the Iron Islands from his steed, making a loud chorus of cheers rise from the crowd. Oberyn himself made his way quickly to the royal box, where he pulled his laughing wife from her seat and into a passionate kiss that she delightedly returned, for once bereft of her typical conservative nature in her pleasure at seeing her former tormentor's humiliation.

It was a wonderful day.

* * *

The night was not remotely so pleasing as the day. To Oberyn's utter bewilderment, Alyssa was glaring icily at him when he entered their bedchamber that evening. Ghost was sprawled over the bed, her head in Alys' lap, also glowering at him with her blood-red eyes. Oberyn was utterly at a loss as to what he had done to earn his wife's ire.

His wife had retired early from the dinner, as was her habit, but Oberyn had stayed an extra hour in order to have a casual chat with some lords who were obviously trying to curry favour with him. Accepting their overtures could be beneficial for Dorne, so Oberyn had reluctantly decided to stay and speak with them instead of leaving with his wife to enjoy celebrating his three victories in the jousting earlier.

He finally escaped, concerned to notice that Alyssa had blocked him out. It still caused them both strain to do so, so neither of them did so often.

"Darling-" he began to say, only to be cut off by Ghost's angry snarl.

"Do not speak to me so!" Alyssa snapped, eyes flashing. The grey seemed to have been consumed by the violet tint of her eyes, making them glow. In another moment, he would have pulled her into bed at the sight of it, but right now he suspected he would earn himself a slap and Ghost biting his leg off at the least if he so much as reached for his wife.

"How dare you come in here, acting as if you have done nought wrong?!" Alyssa went on, more enraged than he had ever before seen her.

"I was not aware I had done anything wrong, my lady wife," Oberyn bit back, his own temper beginning to flare. He curled his hands into fists, glaring down at her. She scrambled off the bed, returning his angry expression with her own, Ghost snarling with her ears pressed flat against her head. For once, Alys did not attempt to calm her familiar.

"You poisoned your lance, did you not?" Alys demanded lowly. "Theon Greyjoy is abed with a fever, the Maester says he is unlikely to live out the week."

Oberyn gave a grim smile. "Aye, I did," he confirmed. "And I am glad to see I was successful in ridding the world of that rapist. Did you think, Wife, that I would allow him to escape vengeance for his assault on you? You are my wife, nobody may touch you save me!"

"And did you not think of the consequences of his murder?" she spat back, eyes flashing. "There will be no more reason for the Ironborn to stay in check, after his death. They will attack the mainland, reaving and pillaging for their thrice-damned Iron Price! Did you consider that, or was that your real goal? To disstabilize the power of the Crown to make getting justice for Elia easier?"

"A happy side-effect," Oberyn retorted. "They will go for the Westerlands. Need I remind you, Alyssa, that the Lannisters are our enemies? You swore that my enemies were yours, why are you angry that the man who tried to rape you is dying and the lions will suffer from his death?"

"The Lannisters are our enemies!" Alyssa cried. "The _Lannisters_, _not _their people! Their smallfolk have done nought but obey their rulers! They are tormented by the Mountain and his gang also, they can do nothing to preserve themselves as the same men who murdered your sister brutalize them and their families! They had nothing to do with Elia and her babes' deaths! Yet 'tis them who will suffer the consequences of this! By the Gods, how can you proud of condemning gods only know how many innocent maidens and wives to the same fate as her? How could you? Their blood shall be on your hands, for 'twas your actions that led to it being spilt!"

Oberyn stared at her in shock, horrified into silence by what she had said. He had no defence, for Alys was right. Oberyn had thought only in terms of the problems the Lannisters would face from Greyjoy'd death, considered only that his wife would never again have to fear Greyjoy attacking her a second time. He had not thought of the smallfolk of the West themselves.

"Alyssa," he began to say, but she held up a hand. Her eyes were shimmering with tears, one hand wrapped around her stomach to cradle their babes while the other rested against the bedframe. The outburst of fury had made her weak, and his heart was in his throat. "My love, please sit down," he begged her. "If you will not allow me to touch you, then I will send in Rosael. But sit down, calm yourself please. For the twins."

She gave a curt nod, but recoiled when he attempted to reach out to help her sit back down. "Do not touch me!" she hissed. "Leave, the sight of you makes me ill. Send in my ladies, for I will not look at you. I cannot look at you. Not now. I feel I might die of shame, to love someone so cruel as you."

The words she said felt like daggers in his heart, but he bowed to her wishes. "I will do as you ask," he murmured, reluctantly leaving the bedroom. He flinched at the sound of her sob, and the feel of hurt and grief that slipped through the bond.

"Attend your princess, ladies," he instructed them. The Northern ladies, ever-loyal to the Starks, glowered at him as they hurried past, Rosael at their head. Even the Dornish women looked unhappy with him. He was unsure if they had heard their argument or simply had learned enough about Alyssa to realize that she would not become angry without good reason.

Ygritte lingered behind, scowling at him. On her shoulder, Arrow seemed to glare darkly at him, and Oberyn wondered if he ought to avoid sleeping this night, least Ygritte decide that, bond or no bond, she needed to gain her own vengeance for Alys' tears.

"Do you know, kneeler, that 'twas Alys who killed Ramsay Snow?" Ygritte asked him, in a low voice, cold as the lands his goodfamily ruled.

"No, I was not aware of that," Oberyn replied warily. He had known that the Bolton bastard had been gelded and executed for his actions, as all rapists were in the North. The Winter Landers did not have mercy for men who brutalized women, another reason Oberyn had quickly become fond of them.

"Yes, she insisted," Ygritte stated steely. "I dearly wish I had not left her alone that day, but how could we ever have expected danger within the halls of Winterfell itself? I have never repeated that mistake, nor will I in the future. But that is not what I was speaking of, I was speaking of the Bastard of the Dreadfort's death.

Magnar Stark is the one who castrated him, but Alys insisted on being the one to swing Ice. She begged for Greyjoy's life, too. She wanted him dead for his actions, but she did not want the majority to suffer for her peace of mind."

She gave him a pointed look, and he flinched.

_I feel I might die of shame to love someone as cruel as you,_ Alyssa had spat at him. He felt ill, and he did not think it was due to picking up on Alyssa's morning sickness (that was in fact all-day sickness, in her case). He had never pretended to be a good or nice man, but it pained him more than almost anything else to think of the expression she had directed at him.

"It gave her a peace that she would not have gotten otherwise," Ygritte went on, her eyes locked on him. "To be the one to end the Bolton Bastard's life. She needed to be the one to do that.

You did not just condemn dozens of innocent girls to suffering you will never fully comprehend as a man, but you stole the closure that Alys needed from her.

Were the Mountain or Lorch to die at the hands of someone else, someone unaffected by what they did to your sister, would it give you as much peace as doing it yourself?"

With that, she strode past him into the bedchamber to join the other women, chin lifted and familiar resting on her shoulder.

Oberyn stayed frozen in place, feeling sick with disgust at himself.


	32. Robb 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT.**

**Chapter Thirty-One**

**Robb Three**

_**Winterfell: **__**21**__**st**__** October, 297 After Conquest**_

Robb realized quickly that he was dreaming. He vividly remembered leaving the dinner table and heading to bed early, a headache pounding in his temples. He definitely hadn't gone wandering through the Wolfswood, nor had he come across a grove of five oddly-shaped weirwood trees.

It was different from his warg dreams, where he shared the mind and instincts of his animal companions, but it was very odd. He had never seen such strange heart trees before. They were shaped more like people than like actual, thick trees. They were short too, with faces more detailed and humanlike than any weirwood faces that he had seen before. Very strange.

It was even stranger that he had _stepped out_ of one of the trees. Automatically, he turned to bow to it respectfully, as he had been taught. The gods lived in the weirwood trees, and so bowing to them and treating them with the greatest respect was absolutely essential.

He looked around at the sound of a noise and started in pleased surprise when he saw that his siblings, all of them, were each exiting a different tree. They all, save Bran who looked as dreamy and serene as ever, looked puzzled and quizzical as they studied their surroundings. Robb was alarmed and angered when spotted the subtle signs of Alys having been crying.

What had that dratted Dornish prince done to upset Robb's sister?

"Robb?" she started in surprise at the sight of him. "What are you doing here? Actually, where is here anyway? 'Tis certainly not King's Landing."

"We're dream sharing," Bran declared, excitement creeping into his eyes, turning him from greenseer's apprentice to young boy.

"Really?" Sansa's Tully blue eyes widened in surprise. "Are you certain, Bran? The rest of us are not greenseers, after all, and 'tis only greenseers who are able to step into another's sleeping mind."

"I am sure," Bran insisted, a hint of petulance entering his tone. "Lord Reed was teaching me all about it."

"But how?" Arya interrupted, frowning. Robb did a double-take when he looked at her properly and saw that her skin was no longer the pale white complexion of the people of the North, but rather a golden tan similar but not so dark as the one the Dornish had.

"It must be because of our blood oath," Alys mused. "Remember we used a runic knife and exchanged blood? We must have gotten some of Bran's greenseeing abilities when we did it. I wonder if that means that my dreams are real, after all."

"What dreams?" Arya and Robb asked in unison. They all looked at Alys expectantly. She hesitated then smiled shyly, placing her hands atop her abdomen.

"Arya knows this already, but I have only just sent the letter, seeing as Her Grace was so _kind_ as to announce my news to all of the court upon our arrival. I am with child, carrying twins. I believe 'twill be fraternal twins, one a boy and the other a girl. I have been having dreams of them."

Sansa squealed in excitement, dashing over to pull Alys into a tight hug.

"Congratulations, Alys," Bran beamed. "I _told _you that you would be a mother. Oh, this is exciting, is it not? These children will probably be the first of their kind, to have the blood of the First Men, the Rhoynar, Old Valyria and even the Andals running through their veins. I wonder what if they will be especially powerful in some way? The Rhoynar mages had the ability to control water, and the ancient First Men druids were able to control nature, mayhaps the combination will bring back those abilities?"

Alys gave a mildly strained laugh, patting her stomach lightly and gently warning their excited brother that her babes were her children, not a school experiment.

As for himself, Robb was genuinely in shock. Alys, his _sister_, was _with child_. Pregnant. Carrying not just one babe, but _two_! He was torn between delight at the prospect of becoming an uncle, because he knew that Alys had always longed to be a mother, and utter horror at the thought of how exactly those two children came to exist.

"Robb?" he blinked, finding his siblings all giving him worried looks.

"Are you alright?" Arya asked, tilting her head. "You look stupid, just staring at Alys like she has two heads with your mouth hanging open."

"Arya, do not be rude," Alys and Sansa chided her exasperatedly whilst Robb sputtered indignantly, cheeks flushed bright red in embarrassment.

"What's rude about telling him that his mouth was open?" Arya defend herself.

Alys planted her fists on her hips, looking alarmingly like their governess when she was unhappy with something they had done, and frowned at their youngest sister disapprovingly.

"Arya," she warned, making the younger girl lower her head sullenly.

"Sorry, Robb," she grumbled.

"It's okay Arya," Robb assured her. "Well, congratulations Lyssie. I'm still going to break your husband's over-large nose, though."

Alys laughed hollowly. 'Twas not a pretty sound, and it had them all looking at her worriedly. "Feel free to do your worst, my brother. I shall not stop you."

"What happened?" Robb demanded hotly. "What did he do to upset you? Do I need to call the banners? I will Alys, I mean it. I will not allow you to be treated as anything less than the treasure that you are."

"Theon Greyjoy will be dead within a few days, at the most," Alys announced, a grim look in her violet-grey eyes. "And the moment the Iron Islands learn of his death, they shall start another rebellion. Gods, I should never have said a word to him. 'Tis all my fault!"

She buried her head in her hands and started to sob. Their younger siblings looked lost from her last two sentences, but Robb knew what Greyjoy had done and understood what had happened. He felt a mixture of emotions about it.

The bad side was that he had not only lost the chance to see the rake die himself and that they had spared Greyjoy's life for a reason, the good of the many. And now Alys was upset and worried and blaming herself for the consequences of her assaulter's death. The good thing was that Greyjoy was no longer a blight on the world, a possible threat to not just Alys herself, but Sansa and Arya and any other woman as well.

"Alys," he murmured, pulling her into his arms. The others saw the look he aimed at them, and reluctantly left to wander through the small godswood that made up their dream landscape.

"So many people are going to suffer because of this, Robb," she whimpered into his shoulder. "How could he be so selfish? He despises rape, yet he thinks of nothing of letting innocent women be stolen from their homes to become saltwives so long as he has the satisfaction of angering the Lannisters and causing them difficulties, and I have to take the Iron Throne even though I don't want, I truly do not Robb, I did not even want to be a princess, let alone Marked by the Gods to carry out their will or sit in that gods-awful throne, I just want to raise my children in peace, but you should see the capital, Robb. 'Tis awful it truly is. Father would never stand for any of our people to live in such poverty, 'tis appalling Robb. So I must become Queen, and that terrifies me, and it will tie my children to such a burden, and I fear that the Targaryen madness may come in my children or grandchildren, and-"

"And _breathe_, Lyssie," Robb interrupted the words spilling out of her. He rubbed circles on her back, watching her carefully to see her breathing. Things like this had happened often, in the time just after the attack. Alys would become lost in panic, forgetting to breathe. Several times she had swooned from the lack of air, and Scholar Luwin had prescribed a calming draught and regular cups of chamomile tea to help her stay calm. He had also taught them several techniques to help her remember how to breathe properly when she was too upset to recall.

Looking at the way her chest heaved in distress, and tears spilled from her eyes, Robb decided she needed one of those techniques. Then she would be able to tell him, calmly, what exactly was bothering her, and he would decide whether or not to convince their father to go to war with Dorne. Oh, and he needed to reveal that Father's 'one true love', the Lady Ashara Dayne, was back from the dead (though in far better way than how the White Walkers did it.).

Robb was hesitantly starting to like Lady Ashara, or Asha as she had asked Bran and he to call her. She was a kind woman, respectful of their traditions and culture and a follower of the Old Gods. And Robb had never seen Father smile so freely and so fully before, until Lady Ashara had arrived.

That being said, Robb was determined to keep his guard up. He would not allow for his pack to be harmed by an outsider again. But that wasn't the important thing right now. Right now, the important thing was helping Alys breathe properly.

"Breathe with me, Sister," he instructed her, placing her hand on his chest so that she could feel the movements of his chest, and helping her to sit down on the snow-covered ground. Alys inhaled shakily and then exhaled, and repeated the motion until she had settled down, and tears no longer fell from her eyes. "Now," he continued gently. "Tell me everything that happened. What is this about you becoming the Queen of Westeros, and how did Greyjoy get killed?"

Alys sniffed and wiped at her eyes with the back of her palm, before they settled themselves more comfortably in the large, gnarled roots. "Oh, I have never seen a sorrier sight than King's Landing, Ro," she sighed. "'Tis awful, all of those poor people starving and resorting to crime purely to put food in their family's bellies. I met the sweetest little girl, Alicent. Her mother is dead, and her older brother is a blacksmith's apprentice. To be honest, from his looks I suspect that he is the king's unacknowledged bastard son. Can you imagine doing such a thing Ro? Not acknowledging your own child!"

Such things were not done in the North. According to the beliefs of the Old Gods, the gods chose what station you were born into for a reason. That meant that bastards were born bastards for a reason. 'Twas not for mortals to question the will of the gods. The dishonour was _never_ on the child, however, no matter what the burners said about bastards being lustful and filled with inborn greed. If there was any dishonour at all, it was on the parent, should they have broken vows of fidelity to a spouse or, even worse, abandoned the babe. It was heavily disapproved of to remove a child from their mother without the mother's consent, unless you could prove to Magnar Stark that the child would flourish better without the mother's presence and influence. But it was even worse if the father neglected to support the child or acknowledge its existence at all.

Robb could not imagine having a child and just ignoring its' existence. How did such people live with themselves? What was more important than the Pack? Family was everything, and everything was family, that was what he had been taught by his father since he lived in the cradle. The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives, and everyone in the Winter Lands was part of the Pack. That philosophy had sent the North to war against the Iron Throne in order to avenge the late Magnar Rickard and Brandon, and save Magnara Lyanna. Nobody in the North that Robb knew would ever abandon their child. It was one thing he respected his goodbrother for. The man had acknowledged and taken in his base born children, and he clearly valued his family highly.

Robb thought of that as he listened to Alys explain everything that had happened since she had left Winterfell. Including her decision to claim the Iron Throne for herself, her worry over how Oberyn would react to her telling him who her birth parents were, that she had fallen in love with her husband and was heartbroken by his actions.

"How could he, Robb?" she asked when she was finished, distraught. "How could he condemn Gods only know how many to death for no reason save his own desire for revenge? What does it say about me, that I love a man who could do something like that?"

Robb had no idea how to help her, or advise her. He just hugged her like they were children again and she had woken from nightmare. The others had disappeared, and Robb wondered if they had woken up, or if they were gone exploring the dreamscape. Either way, he to silently admit to being grateful for the privacy with his closest sibling.

"Everything will work out, Lyssie," he promised her helplessly. "It will, I promise you."

She sniffed and nodded, though her eyes were doubtful. "Tell me of Winterfell," she requested. "I miss home so, and letters simply are not the same. Tell me everything, tell me of your betrothed. How is Father?"

Robb shook his head, still amazed by fact that Father, of all people, was smiling and laughing freely. Whether he trusted her or not, Robb had to admit that Asha had been good for Father.

"Oh, by the Gods Alys," he said. "You shan't believe me. You recall Father's late betrothed, Ashara Dayne?"

"Yes, of course." Alys frowned curiously at him.

"She lives!"


	33. Alyssa 8

**Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT.**

**Okay, I'm sorry for it just being the one chapter, but I'm starting on the other fic (called 'The Star of the North' for the moment and going up this evening. It's trueborn daughter of Ned & Ashara fem!Jon marries Oberyn for protection against the Lannisters, the North will be very similar to this verse's North) so from on it'll probably be just one chapter at a time. But they will still come, and come as quickly as I can write them, promise! **

**Thanks to everyone enjoying this, fuck off to the assholes who like insulting me for whatever reason, I just delete your reviews so don't even bother leaving them. (Sorry, those reviews seriously piss me off, especially those complaining about my treatment of Catelyn when it says NOT FOR TULLY FANS in the summary.)**

**Finally, a guest reviewer asked how long they were staying in KL: i got this mixed up and made a sennight=2 weeks, they're staying for a fortnight and they've been there about ten days now. And yes, Alicent is Gendry Waters' younger half-sister, they share a mother, she is NOT Robert's child.**

**Read, enjoy and review!**

**Chapter Thirty-Two**

**Alyssa Eight**

_**The Red Keep: 24th**__**October, 297 After Conquest**_

Alys kept one hand resting on her stomach and the other tangled in Ghost's fur as she faced the wall, staring at it and trying to ignore the bond and the guilty awareness that her husband was sleeping on the chaise for the third night in a row.

The dream-talk with Robb had been a help. She had missed being able to unburden herself to her almost-twin, missed knowing he was on her side whether she was right or wrong. Exchanging letters simply wasn't the same. Alys had felt she was going mad with worry and with the feelings of illness and exhaustion from her pregnancy.

But she was still angered by Oberyn's actions. Theon Greyjoy had died hours after being poisoned, and tension hung like a black cloud over the court, the Reach and Westerlanders particularly worried. Alys herself was frantic with thoughts of Bear Island. The Island had been the victim of many Iron Born attacks in the four millennia since King Rodrik had taken it from them, and though they had good defences, Alys couldn't shake away her worry for Sansa, who was now fostering there.

"Sweetling, you need to sleep," Rosael commented, from where she was sitting on a chair in the corner. Alys had swooned when news had arrived of Greyjoy's death, and Oberyn had insisted that she was to have an attendant with her at all times. Despite her continuing anger with him, Alys had conceded to his wishes for the babes' sakes. Besides, they were hiding the rift in their marriage from all save their party, and refusing to obey him would have shown the world that being bonded did not, as the singers made out, mean that their relationship was faultless.

"I cannot," Alys replied to her former nurse turned handmaiden, sitting up and twisting to face her. "My thoughts race like horses at the Solstice Festival."

"Here then," Rosael poured some dreamwine into a goblet and handed it to Alys. "Drink," she ordered. "And rest. Everything is clearer after rest."

"I have been resting, yet nought is clearer at all," Alys grumbled, grudgingly taking the cup and raising it to her lips to drink.

"Proper rest, not just sleep," Rosael responded. "Sleep, my love. Sleep cures all heartache."

"I hate men," Alys complained, her eyes becoming heavy. "All they think of is blood and sex. 'Tis no wonder the world is in such a state as this."

"Aye, would that society had the sense to put women in charge," Rosael agreed.

Alys mumbled an agreement as she fell into the world of dreams.

* * *

She was in some sort of tower room, with four tall directional windows and bare black walls. In the centre of the room was a large table, carved and painted in the form of a detailed map of Westeros. The table was more than fifty feet long: roughly twenty-five feet wide at its widest point and four feet at its thinnest. At the precise location of Dragonstone was a raised seat that allowed the occupant to view the entire map. Standing around the table was a group of people, two women and four men.

This is Dragonstone, Alys realized distantly. And I am in the Chamber of the Painted Table. Who are they?

She studied the people, taking in the silver hair and violet eyes of the women and two of the men, the familiar chestnut curls and stern grey eyes of the remaining men. She recognized them from sketches in history books, as well as the Winterfell Hall of History, which had portraits of every Stark going back centuries.

Aegon the Conqueror, his sister-wife Rhaenys, Torrhen Stark and his Marked wife Visenya of House Targaryen, Torrhen's half-brother and the High Greenseer of the time, Brandon Snow and the last must have been Orys Baratheon.

"The greenseers all agree that it must be so," Torrhen was saying, as Alys studied the scene. "You have seen the Others with your own eyes, my goodbrother. This is why the Gods Marked Visenya and I, that we might all work together to unite Westeros, so as to prepare for the return of the Long Night."

"I am no king, Brother," Aegon replied grimly, running a finger over the Reach part of the Painted Table. "Why not let you become King of the Seven Kingdoms? You have been raised to wear a crown all of your life, and you are the greatest ruler in the Seven Kingdoms. You would be far better at this than I ever would. You and Visenya were born to rule, I was not."

Torrhen shook his head. "The greenseers say that it must be you," he stated simply.

"It must," Brandon Snow agreed. "For fire is in the blood of the dragon, and ice is in that of the direwolf. Ice is not what will defeat the Night King, fire is."

Aegon looked away, arms crossed over his chest and a heavy frown almost like that of Torrhen's on his face. "I know nought of ruling kingdoms," he muttered. "I want no crown. I am content to be Lord of Dragonstone, with Rhaenys at my side."

"Aegon, Brother, listen to me," Visenya leaned forward, holding her husband's hand. "We must do this. I have seen how a single wight, a minor Other, destroyed an entire village in less than an hour. Had I not had Vhagar to engulf them all in flames, I shudder to contemplate what would have occurred. I have spoken to the Children of the Forest, they have told me of the Long Night. We must do this, or everyone will die. The _world_ will die, Aegon. Would you let that happen, only to avoid the responsibility of a crown?"

"You will not be alone in this, my love," Rhaenys added, cupping her husband's cheek. "We will stand at your side, until our last days."

"We will all stand with you, Brother," Orys agreed.

Torrhen strode over to Aegon, unsheathing Ice from its' place on his back before kneeling in front of him and digging the sword into the ground, bowing his head.

"To Aegon Targaryen I pledge the faith of Winterfell and the Winter Lands. Hearth and heart and harvest I yield up to you, my lord. Our swords and spears and arrows are yours to command. Grant mercy to our weak, help to our helpless and justice to all, and we shall never fail you. I swear it by earth and water, I swear by bronze and iron, I swear it by ice and fire."

Aegon exhaled and bowed his head. "I accept your fidelity, Brother. I shall not fail you, nor your people."

Alys blinked in confusion when the scene suddenly seemed to blur, sweeping her away.

* * *

Alys gazed around, recognizing the crypts of Winterfell. Two people were within, a young man in armour, with brunette hair and violet eyes, and a girl with classic Stark features, though her face was not long. Both looked to be about seven-and-ten, at the most.

"Sarra, I want you to promise me something, my love," the boy said, holding Sarra's hand with one of his own, the other cradling something to his chest.

"Anything, Jace," Sarra promised, her eyes shining with a mixture of love and tears as she gazed up at him.

King Jacaerys and Queen Sarra, Alys realized. The son of Queen Rhaenrya and his wife, Sarra Snow. The revelation of Jacaerys breaking his long-term betrothal with Baela Targaryen to elope with a bastard follower of the Old Gods had been a serious scandal, but Sarra herself had been a greatly-loved queen in the five years she had ruled alongside her husband before plague had killed her and their sole son, Aenar. Their daughter, Saera, had later married Aegon III, her uncle, and been the mother of the Young Dragon, Daeron I, Baelor the Blessed, as well as Daena the Defiant, Rhaena and Elaena Targaryen.

"If I die, if we lose, do not tell anyone of our marriage," Jacaerys instructed his wife, who looked stricken. She shook her head in refusal, but he plunged on, not letting her object. "You can say that you lost your maidenhead riding or something. But if my treacherous uncle wins, and he learns of our marriage, I fear what will happen to you, and to the North. For the sake of your kingdom, swear you will say nothing."

Sarra's lip trembled but his words had struck a chord in her. "As long as you swear that you will do everything in your power to return to me," she replied. "Then by the Old Gods and the New, I will do as you ask."

He kissed her firmly, Sarra wrapping her arms around his neck.

"I swear by the Gods, Old and New, that I will do anything needed to come back to you, my love," he breathed. "The bracelets on our wrists guarantee it."

She gave a shaky smile, as Alys, unseen, craned her neck in interest to see the pair's Marriage Bracelets. It consisted of a dragon and a wolf, the tails intertwined and the snouts touching.

"I have something for you," Jacaerys pulled away from his wife and withdrew the object he was cradling to his chest. Alys and Sarra gasped in unison, eyes widening.

"Is that-?" Sarra began to ask. Jacaerys nodded.

"A dragon egg," he confirmed. "Should you be with child, put this in our babe's cradle, that they can become a dragon rider. But take care, alright? Keep it secret."

"I will," Sarra promised. "I promise you, Jace. I will hide it here in the crypts, in my father's tomb where it 'twill be unfound. I love you."

"I love you too," he whispered. "I think that the whispers of your people practicing magic are true, and you have cast a spell over me. I never loved Baela as more than a friend, and sometimes I wondered about other girls. But I _love_ you, Sarra. I will come back, and you will be my wife and my queen, and never a finer consort has there or will there be."

As they kissed again, Alys found herself being swept away again, thinking of Sarra's promise. _I will hide it here in the crypts, in my father's tomb._

* * *

The third place she found herself in was some sort of field, with three Northerners. One she realized immediately was her mother, Lyanna Stark. She looked just as her effigy, but she wore a bright grin and was clearly full of life. Her tan-furred direwolf, Dusk, was playing in the grass with a husky.

The other two were obviously Lyanna's guards. One was a man, grinning in amusement, dressed in the uniform of the Ice Guard. Although he was armed, he seemed at ease, leaning casually against a tree. The other was a girl Lyanna's age, her hair blonde and curly, her eyes a clear blue and a scattering of freckles over her cheeks and nose. Alysanne Snow, the natural daughter of the late Lord Torrhen Snowstark.

"Poor Brandon," Lyanna was giggling. "To endure being married to that snobbish, burner trout for the rest of his life. I should not like to be in his position."

"If that bloodly maester has it his way, you shall have to endure being married to a burner stag with a penchant for whoring and drink instead," Alysanne retorted, smirking.

Lyanna shot her a glare. "I will jump off a tower before giving in and marrying any Andal!" she declared. "Father is mad, to be so obsessed with this Southron Game of Thrones. Since when has the Winter Lands ever required the help of the South to survive?"

Alysanne shrugged. "Never, that I know of," she replied. "But I suppose that, as your loyal guard, I shall have to save you from the awful Robert Bara-Lyanna get down!"

She abruptly lost all mirth as an arrow hit the Ice Guard right in the throat, making him slump to his knees, gripping his neck and choking on his own blood. Lyanna ducked another arrow, both girls unsheathing the swords on their hips.

"Stay behind me!" Alysanne called to her charge as a large group of men with hoods over their heads to diguise themselves came storming out of their trees. "Star, attack!" The husky raced forward, teeth bared, whilst Lyanna's direwolf growled in anger, remaining beside her mistress with bristling fur. Lyanna and Dusk, while they clearly wanted to help, stayed behind. Alys understood why. It had been emphasized to her a thousand times that if her guard and her were fighting together, Ygritte would be distracted trying to keep an eye on her, instead of focusing on her opponents. Alys could not bear the thought of being Ygritte's death, and she knew it would be the same for her mother.

Alysanne showed off the prowess of the Warg Guard, cutting down four of the men easily before they started to take her skills seriously despite her gender.

"We just want the girl," one of the men, who seemed to be the leader if not the best fighter, declared. "There is no need for you to die."

"I am her sworn shield!" Alysanne retorted, eyes flashing angrily, intercepting his sword with her own. "A member of the Warg Guard. I will die before I let you touch her!"

"So be it," he sighed mournfully. "I pray that you will forgive me, it is for the greater good."

Alysanne and Lyanna both let out anguished cries as the archer hit Star in the neck, making her stumble. Another one of Alysanne's opponents took advantage of the injury and lept forward with his sword swing, managing to decapitate her.

Dusk bounded forward, growling, and ripped the throats of another two of the men out before an archer hidden in the trees shot first one, then three more, arrows into her eyes.

"Dusk!" Lyanna wailed, falling to her knees and gripping her head in pain at the sudden and brutal severing of her warg bond.

Alysanne, meanwhile, was struggling. Heavily outnumbered, injured and suffering from her own broken bond, it was only a matter of time before she was defeated.

Alys was therefore unsurprised, though grieved, to see the way one of Alysanne's opponents crept up behind her and shoved a knife in the lower part of her back. She went rigid, as Lyanna screamed. Alysanne was abandoned to slump to the ground, whilst the men went for Lyanna.

The magnara herself fought like the wolf that was their family's symbol, killing another three of the men, until of the twenty that had attacked only four remained. They managed to wrestle her to the ground, tying her up as she cursed and fought, damning them all to the dungeons of the Otherworld to rot.

"Who are you?" she spat at the leader. "What do you want?"

Rhaegar lowered his head, looking at her sorrowfully.

Lyanna sucked in a shocked gasp, her eyes widening. "Prince Rhaegar?" she exclaimed. "What-? Are you mad? This is an act of war, you fools!"

Rhaegar sighed mournfully. "I am sorry, Magnara," he stated. "But this is what must be. The song of ice and fire. It-"

She spit in his face, making a flash of annoyance appear on his features. "Very well, I see you will not listen to reason at this moment. Jon, Sers, let us go, quickly," the Silver Prince declared, rising to his feet. "We must hurry, least any of the Riverlanders and Northerners come to investigate."

"Yes, Your Highness," the men chorused, one picking up Lyanna and tossing her over his shoulder as they stalked off, leaving the field strewn with corpses.

* * *

Alys jolted up in bed, shaken and confused. She stared around herself with wide eyes, trying to recall where she was. Finally understanding that she was awake, in her bed in the Red Keep, she let out a relieved sigh and climbed out of the bed. Rosael was deep asleep in the chair in the corner, eyelashes fluttering with her own dreams, and Ghost padded quietly as Alys' side as she left the chamber and went into the sitting room.

It was empty save for Oberyn, lying stretched out on the chaise. One look and Alys knew her husband was not asleep. He wasn't snoring, for one thing, and he held himself differently to when he was asleep.

"You do not sleep, Husband?" she called softly to him. He sat up immediately, turning to her. She recognized the look in his eyes, and found herself going over to his side to sit with him despite her lingering anger. "Elia?" she murmured, knowing from experience how much his sister's death haunted him even now, fifteen years after her death.

"Aye," he croaked. "And you, my love? What thoughts trouble you?"

"Dreams," Alys shrugged, and they stayed quiet for several minutes. She could feel his desire to embrace, and she compromised by leaning into his side whilst looking away.

"Why did you do it?" she asked him quietly, after another stretch .

He swallowed heavily. "I am not a good man, my darling," he murmured. "I do not think of people I know not. I saw him, I thought of the sorrow and pain he caused you, and was filled with rage. I thought of the Westerlands only in terms of making the Lannisters suffer, I did not consider the innocents who would be harmed."

"If you could change it, would you?" she asked evenly.

He hesitated. "I do not regret killing him," he replied at last. "Only that people will suffer for it. I am sorry for that, beloved. I truly am."

She sighed, turning her head into his chest. "I love you, even now," she replied ruefully. "I wish I did not feel your emotions. I could stay angry, that way."

"Do you forgive me, then?"

"Forgive you? Yes. Forgiveness is an easy thing to do. But do I trust you as I did before this? No, I do not."

He exhaled heavily, a mixture of relief and grief thrumming in the bond. Neither of them said anything or moved again until it was time to get ready for another day.


	34. Jon A 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT. I'm glad you guys are giving The Star of the North a shot! Chapter 2 is now up. Read, enjoy and review, as usual!**

***Trigger warning for reference to attempted rape***

**Chapter Thirty-Three**

**Jon Arryn One**

_**The Red Keep: 24th**__**October, 297 After Conquest**_

Jon sighed tiredly and rubbed at his eyes in exhaustion, staring down at the pile of work atop his desk. Being Warden of the East was a piece of cake in comparison to being Hand of the King. Thank the Gods for Denys. If not for his cousin's help, Jon would probably have died from a heart attack due to the stress of running the realm, being Lord Paramount of the Vale, and dealing with Lysa and Sweetrobin.

Sweetrobin. Jon let out a tired sigh, rubbing his eyes again at the thought of his sole living son. The boy troubled him deeply. Jon had been relieved when, after years of failed attempts and two lost wives, Lysa had at last produced a living boy for him. But his son was a spoiled, weak child. He was five years old and still suckling at his mother's teat, for the love of the Seven! Lysa coddled him too much, though given the miscarriages she had suffered both before and after their son's birth he understood why she fretted over his ill-health so. All the same, his ill-health was part of why Jon was quietly tempted to bypass Sweetrobin as his heir entirely and have Denys succeed him as Lord of the Vale instead.

After all, Jon was getting on in years. He doubted that he would live to see his son grow up, and the boy was so weak that Jon worried he would not live to reach his majority in the first place.

On the other hand, there was Denys, who was married to a healthy wife, Jon's own niece, the younger sister of Denys' deceased first wife. They had two daughters already in their five years of marriage, and Jeyne was once again with child, meaning she might have her own healthy son soon enough, further securing the Arryn line.

At the very least, Denys would have to act as Regent and Lord Protector of the Vale, Jon decided silently to himself. Lysa was young and inclined to hysterics. And though they tried to hide it, he had seen how close she was to Baelish, the same man that Jon suspected to be the one who had ruined her. He did not know if she was truly having an affair, but he _did _know that Baelish influenced her thoughts and opinions a great deal. Jon would acknowledge that the man was Hand of the King, but that did not change the fact that he was sly and ambitious, and Jon would _never_ trust him with the Vale.

Jon found his thoughts wandering from his succession and biological son to the sons of his heart. He let out a heavy sigh, glancing glumly at the letter from the Iron Bank, asking pointed questions about when the money owed to them by the Crown would be repaid.

How had it all gone so wrong? Robert had never been a good ruler even when he was only Lord of the Stormlands, that was true. But he had never been malicious, not until Prince Rhaegar had stolen Magnara Lyanna. Jon rued the day that he had suggested to Robert that marrying the lady would be a good way for he and Ned to become true brothers. But instead of uniting his foster sons more, as Jon had hoped, the attempted betrothal had damaged it. Robert no longer seemed to remember, but Jon had not forgotten how Ned had argued against Robert marrying his sister.

"_You do not know anything about Lyanna!"_ Ned had spat upon learning of the betrothal negotiations, grey eyes almost black in his anger and his direwolf bristling in rage. It had taken the both of them by surprise how infuriated he was, and Jon had regretted his idea immediately, knowing that Ned would not have reacted in such a way without good reason. His words still echoed in his head. _"You know nothing of the North and our ways, our gods! A marriage between the two of you will make you both miserable, and I will not see my sister suffer! I tell you, you will regret coming up with this idea."_

And at the least Jon certainly had, for he had watched his foster son pine away over a dead lady he had met only once at Harrenhal for the past nigh-on fifteen years.

And oh, how Ned had raged over the deaths of Princess Elia and her babes, labelling it a crime against his sacred Old Gods. Jon had been dismayed by it as well. Yes, they were a threat to Robert's reign, but dark deeds should be carried out in dark places. The babes should have gone quietly, with pillows held over their mouths as they slept, and there had _definitely_ been no need for Princess Elia to be brutalized in such a way. No mother would jusst stand aside and allow their child to be killed, of course. But they had not needed to defile the poor lady in such a way. And for Robert to spit on the children's corpses and call them dragonspawn. Jon had been sure then, that he had made some terrible mistake in raising Robert.

Robert himself seemed to believe that bygones were bygones, that he and Ned were brothers in all but truth, but Jon knew better. The Starks took their blood bonds seriously, and it had only ever been Aerys and Rhaegar that Ned spoke against. He had considered the women and children innocent victims of their menfolk's actions, which Jon admitted was the truth, and he would not forgive the deaths of his cousins, distant though their kinship was. And that was saying nothing of Dorne.

Now, the North and Dorne, the two groups most angered by the Sack, were united and at the height of their power, with the Marks that adorned Prince Oberyn and Princess Alyssa's wrists. Should Dorne decide to attack the Iron Throne and secure it in Daenaerys Targaryen's name as the last of the line, then the North would stand with them, for Ned adored all of his children dearly. And as the Martells were negotiating with the former-loyalist House, the Tyrells, to marry Prince Quentyn to Lady Margaery, the Reach would be with them as well. And Jon worried deeply about the smallfolk and the other kingdoms, for Marks were a powerful thing. Few would risk their souls by going against them.

And Jon's attempt to secure the Crown against such an alliance, to at least force Ned into neutrality, had failed, proof of that failure having arrived only that afternoon.

Jon set aside the letter from the Iron Bank and scanned the one sent from the Warden of the North. And it was definitely Magnar Stark who had sent it, not his former fosterling. The tone of the letter was cool and neutral, with little-to-no recognition of the fact that its author had spent five years living beside Robert under Jon's guardianship in the Vale, and that they had fought side-by-side in a war.

_**To His Grace, King Robert Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm, greetings.**_

_**I am honoured by Your Grace's offer to join our Houses, as Your Grace has long desired **_(Your Grace desired, Jon noted. Not we. Troubling.)_**, however I am afraid that I am obliged to decline.**_

_**I will be blunt with you, Your Grace, taking liberty due to our old friendship. I will not allow another of my children to marry south. My own marriage is proof of what a disaster it is to mix Andal and First Men marriages. Had the Gods not had other plans, I would not have let Alys marry south either. I want my children within my reach, and more importantly, within my territory, that I may protect them from those who would harm them.**_

_**I have other reasons to refuse also. Firat and perhaps most importantly of all, were my daughter Sansa to marry your son, she would most likely have to convert to the Faith of the Seven. This is something I cannot even contemplate allowing, for all of my children are very devoted to the Old Gods, and Sansa would be deeply distressed to abandon our religion.**_

_**Another reason is that I would fear for Sansa in King's Landing. You know even more than I that it is filled with poison, a place I am loathe to even think of. My kin died in that place **_("my kin". Did he speak only of Rickard and Brandon Stark, or did he think of Princess Elia and her children also?)_**. The thought of my sweet daughter there, surrounded by serpents ready to strike at any sign of weakness, makes me shudder in horror.**_

_**My final reason for refusal is a political one. My marriage to Lady Tully caused a great deal of strife among my bannermen. It was the first attempt since Torrhen Stark married Visenya Targaryen for one of my family to marry outside of our kingdom, the first time for it to happen without a Marking, and it was a failed experiment. Lady Tully insulted many of my people with her obvious contempt for our ways and refusal to adhere to them, and she undermined both my and my children's positions. As such, I must marry my children to my bannermen, so as to ensure their loyalty.**_

_**As to Your Grace's second proposal, I feel that I must refuse that also. You are good to offer to take my son as your squire, and in other circumstances I would be honoured to accept. But Bran is already preparing to foster with Lord Howland Reed, and I could not insult my dear friend**_ (Lord Reed was his "dear friend", whilst he said that his friendship with Robert was an "old" one, which could be taken in several ways, positive or negative. Yes, this letter was worrying indeed.) _**and loyal bannerman by snubbing him. **_

_**Again, my thanks for your offer and my regrets for refusing you. The Winter Lands are, as ever, loyal to the rightful ruler of the Iron Throne.**_

_**Regards,**_

_**Magnar Eddard Stark, Lord Paramount of the Winter Lands, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.**_

Jon let out yet another heavy sigh. With every letter exchanged between himself and Ned, he feared more that his former foster son was breaking off their ties string by string, preparing to take up arms against them. He loathed the thought, but it was one that he had to consider, especially with news of Dorne's new navy and that the Winter Landers, who while they were not as good in naval matters as the Lannisters, Redwynes or even the Iron Born, but were still experts at what they did, showing their new allies how to sail them.

The Iron Born was another problem. Jon had been forced to send the death notice, but there not yet been any reply of course. He suspected that the reply would come in the form of an attack, and the Lannisters must have feared the same, for Lord Tywin had withdrawn to Casterly Rock with many of his soldiers, and many of the Reachers had gone home to fortify their shores also.

Jon was broken from his grim musings by a commotion in the hallway. He rose to his feet, just as the door burst open to reveal Ser Lancel Lannister, Robert's former squire who was a favourite of the Queen despite being rather useless.

"Lord Hand, you must come quickly!" Ser Lancel exclaimed, breathless with panic. "The Viper is trying to murder the King!"

"Seven preserve us!" Jon exclaimed, running for the door as quick as he could.

What had happened to provoke Prince Oberyn into breaching the fragile peace between the Crown and Dorne? Had Robert made a comment about the late Princess Elia and her babes? Or, worse, had Robert finally crossed the line from merely making Princess Alyssa uncomfortable (despite the girl's excellent expression of neutrality, it was clear that she disliked having the king's attention, and her husband had becoming icier and icier with each attempt of Robert's to touch the girl) and done something foolish while being in his cups?

Jon prayed it was not so, remembering a story of how King Daeron the Good had once choked a man to death in a fit of raw fury when the knight had drunkenly dared to kiss Queen Mariah. Marked men were known to be possessive of their wives, and the Red Viper hated Robert with a passion already. The girl herself physically could not be attracted to anybody save for her husband, and if Robert attempted to drunkenly force himself on her, it really would be war. Jon had counselled Robert to stop being so familiar with the princess repeatedly, but he refused to listen, seeing his late would-have-been betrothed in her and unused to being denied anything he desired after ruling the kingdom for a decade and a half.

Lancel led him to the corridor outside the Great Hall, where Jon grimly took in the scene. It was a disaster, there was no way to deny it.

Princess Alyssa was weeping freely, wrapped in a cloak that Jon recognized as belonging to her husband. He was stricken to see that her dress was torn, and two of her ladies, one Dornish and the other Northern, were helping her to protect her modesty, both seething with rage along with the rest of the Dornish party present. The redhaired Warg Guard stood in front of her charge with a pair of knives drawn, her bird flapping to stay aloft in the air and seeming to glower at everyone around her. A group of Dornish guards also surrounded their princess in a circle, while Ser Mandon lay bleeding on the floor and Ser Barristan stood between Prince Oberyn, who was snarling in utter fury with a dagger in hand, and Robert, who seemed confused. His eyes were bloodshot with drink, and Jon knew that his worries had come true.

"What is happening here?" Jon bellowed, storming through the crowd of gaping onlookers. Most looked indignant or furious, and Jon heard whispers that horrified him even more.

"To assault a Marked lady! To assault _any_ lady in such a way, especially one who is with child! By the Seven, this is our _king_?"

"He is supposed to be the Defender of the Faith, yet he has committed an act of heresy! This is an outrage!"

"If not even a Marked Princess of Dorne, a Magnara of the Winter Lands, can escape his attentions without him trying to force himself on her, then how can any maiden, or even wife, be safe in this keep? I shall send my wife and daughters home immediately!"

"Elissa, go upstairs my dear. Tell the servants to pack your things. I cannot leave yet, my business is unfinished, but I shall not allow you to stay in this godless place where your honour is imperilled."

Prince Oberyn twirled on his heel to face Jon, looking murderous. Jon hid his flinch.

"What is going on, my Lord Hand," the prince announced in silkily soft voice. "Is that the _king_," he spat the title contemptuously. "Has just committed an act of war against Dorne. And most likely the Winter Lands as well, given my goodfather's opinion on rape and his love for my wife."

"I have not committed any asshtss of war!" Robert snapped, but his words lost any effect due to the way he swayed on his feet and slurred his words.

Jon sent a prayer to the Seven for help, turning to Ser Barristan. "Ser, escort His Grace to his rooms to lie down. Prince Oberyn, I-"

"Do not attempt to assuage me, Lord Arryn!" the Viper hissed, a perfect copy of his namesake. "Mine wife stands here, weeping and shamed, and you dare attempt to excuse this, this abominable heresy!?"

The lady sobbed harder at that. "Oberyn," she wept, instantly drawing her husband's attention. He strode over to her hastily, stroking her hair and kissing the top of her head.

"Shh, my love," he soothed her, ignoring everyone, including Robert's drunken protests as the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard escorted him away from the corridor. "Shh darling. You are well, and we will be gone from his cursed place by sunset."

"My prince-" Jon again attempted to do something to smooth over the disaster, but his words turned out to be a mistake.

The prince spun back to him, glaring darkly. "Dorne has been denied justice for my sister and her babes by the Crown," he bit out darkly. "Now, mine wife was assaulted by the King himself! And I am certain that we shall be denied justice for _this_, also, given yourself and the Crown's habit of protecting rapists. Nobody can say she deliberately did anything to entice the man, for our Marks prevent such a thing. To harm a Blessed One is, I shall remind you my lord, a grave sin. I will not suffer to stay a moment longer in this place, to have my wife within these halls is something that I most definitely shall not allow. Of course, you can be rest assured that I shall be informing Prince Doran and Magnar Stark of these events by raven before the day is out."

"You will have the heads of the Mountain and Amory Lorch!" Jon blurted out desperately. "For compensation for the crimes against the Martells."

Unapeased, the Red Viper continued to glare icily at him, cradling his tearful wife in his arms. "And what of the attack on my wife?" he demanded. "How will the Crown answer for the trauma she has suffered, to be molested by the king in front of half-the court?

Do you realize what has occurred my lord? I shall enlighten you as to the events that passed.

The Princess of Dorne was grabbed by the king, who refused to release her on request and demanded she accompany him to his chambers, all the while calling her by the name of her late aunt. Ser Mandon intervened and attempted to injure her guards when they sought to remove the king's hand from my lady's arm, will Dorne be given recompense for that?

I seem to have been fooled, for I had believed that we were done with tyrants as king's when the Mad King was killed. Clearly, I spoke too soon."

Jon was at a loss as to how to reply to the prince's scorn. The subtle comparison between Robert, the son of his heart, and Aerys Targaryen of all people, felt like a dagger to the chest. He heard whispering start up in the crowd, and felt the urge to throw up as he contemplated what would happen once it became known that a Marked man had denounced Robert as tyrant. And Ned, Ned who adored all of his children, his base born daughter especially. This would be the last straw. Neither Dorne nor the Winter Lands would take this insult lying down.

"I see," Prince Oberyn continued coldly after several moments had passed without Jon responding. "Then, it shall be as I said. My party will remain here no longer."

With that, the Red Viper of Dorne scooped his still-distraught wife into his arms and turned to stalk off, seething, with his party at his heels. The redhead Northern woman paused long enough to turn and spit on Ser Mandon and in Jon's direction, as well as the direction Robert had gone off in, then ran to catch up with her party.

_Seven preserve us,_ Jon prayed, knowing it was hopeless. He was certain that he had just watched the start of the end of the Baratheon dynasty.


	35. Oberyn 8

**Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT. Thanks to everybody enjoying this, read, enjoy and review!**

**Chapter Thirty-Four**

**Oberyn 8**

_**The Pearl of Dorne (Martell ship): 24th**__**October, 297 After Conquest**_

She was so still, it made him shiver. Only the light fluttering of her eyelashes and the soft breaths escaping her partially-open mouth reassured him that she was still alive. His sweet wife had been so distraught by the Usurper's assault on her that they'd been forced to give her dreamwine to sedate her and then had her carried to their ship in a litter provided by Lord Whitehill, who was nearly as furious as Oberyn was at the attack on his wife.

Word had spread quickly of how Baratheon had attempted to force himself on a Marked Princess of Dorne and Magnara of the North, and the smallfolk, who had swiftly come to adore Alyssa for her charity and kindness over the past ten days, had gathered in crowds. They had alternated between throwing rotten fruit at the Red Keep and screaming their outrage, and calling out praise and support for Alyssa.

Under other circumstances, Oberyn would've been delighted to see such anger towards the Usurper. But the reason for it was completely unacceptable. He had promised to protect her, and he had failed miserably.

Rosael, looking strained and exhausted, brushed a lock of hair out of Alyssa's face and pressed a kiss to her forehead before straightening. "I shall go and see that Alicent and Gendry are settled into their cabin," she told him, referring to the pair of young siblings that Alyssa had persuaded him to allow into their household the day before their argument. He had sent Daemon to collect them from the orphanage and blacksmith's shop where they respectively lived whilst the rest of them were packing to leave.

The boy was definitely one of the Usurper's many bastards, but was also clearly oblivious to that fact. He was as different to his sire in personality as he was similar in features, and Oberyn could not bring himself to hold his lineage against the boy whose loving and protective manner towards his sweet and bright-eyed younger sister reminded him of himself and Elia when they were children.

"Of course," Oberyn replied, nodding. "I shall remain in here with Alyssa, I do not want her left alone at any time."

"Yes, all of this stress is not good for her or the babes," Rosael frowned. "My poor sweet girl. She does not deserve to be the victim of such brutality."

"She is kinder than the Maiden herself and deserves far better," Oberyn agreed, picking up one of Alyssa's cold hands and pressing it to his lips. She deserved far better than a reckless, thoughtless husband who failed in his duty to protect the gift the Gods had so graciously and undeservedly granted to him.

Rosael nodded, gave Alys' hair a final stroke, then at last left with a curtsey. Through the briefly-opened door, Oberyn spotted Ygritte, a tight expression of anger and upset in her blue eyes, standing guard alongside Daemon.

Ulwyk was there as well, but for once the Uller heir just looked as grim and serious as a Northener, instead of cheeky and mad. Ygritte was allowing him to wrap an arm around her shoulders in support, and Oberyn wished that Alyssa was awake to delight in the sight.

The door snapped shut again, and he returned his gaze to his wife. "I am so sorry," he croaked out to her. "I am so sorry, my beloved. I should have been there."

He had come racing out of the hall at the panicked_ Oberyn! _that had echoed through his mind, barely taking note of the newest advance in their bond. The only thing he had cared about was that Alys was frightened and there were sounds of yelling and weapons being unsheathed coming from the hallway. He had arrived in time to see Ygritte shove her knife into Mandon Moore's neck, whilst the rest of Alys' escort tried to shield their princess from the Stag King, who was clearly deep in his cups despite it not yet being noon and demanding that she come with him to his chambers, all the while calling her 'Lyanna'. Ser Barristan had arrived at about the same time as Oberyn, and put himself between the Usurper and Oberyn, preventing the Prince from gaining the vengeance he thirsted for on his wife's behalf. Besides, the mess with Greyjoy had taught him one thing at least: consult with his wife before plotting to murder anybody on her behalf.

Even despite that, had it not been for the distraught emotions coming from Alyssa through their link, Oberyn would likely have pressed the matter, taking advantage of his Blessed status. But Alyssa had been desperately sending him pleas to leave, borderline hysterical and struggling to breathe properly. He had feared for both her and the twins, and it had forced him to put gaining revenge for her aside so as to get her to the Whitehills' home, where she had been examined by one of their assigned Scholars, a man who specialized in healing, Rodrik Whitewolf (a distant cousin to the current Lord of that House). Thank the Gods, there was no sign of a miscarriage, but Scholar Whitewolf had urged them to keep a careful eye on her, assigned her several potions and was coming back with them, to be at hand should any emergencies occur whilst they were at sea.

"I am so sorry, my darling," he repeated to her, pressing another kiss to her hand. His heart leapt into his throat from relief when he felt her stir and blink slowly into wakefulness, her mind made confused by the medicine.

"My love, can you hear me?" he asked her urgently, moving out of the chair so that he was kneeling on the floor beside her head.

"Oberyn?" she frowned at him, glancing around their cabin in bemusement. "What-? Where-? Are we on the ship? Are we going home? I, I do not remember-"

He pressed a kiss to her lips, trying to send soothing emotions down the bond to calm her rising distress. Unfortunately, it was his wife who was the calm and gentle one out of the pair of them, not him, and it only helped her a little bit.

"Everything is alright now, my love," he tried to calm her once he had pulled out of the kiss. "We have left that hateful, cursed place, and need never step foot there again should you prefer it. We are heading home."

"Home," she said, struggling to rise in the bed. He hastily helped her, piling the pillows up behind her back to support her. "To Sunspear? But why? We still have five days left, do we not? What happ-"

She sucked in a sharp breath and covered her mouth with her hand in distress as she suddenly recalled what had happened to her. Her shoulders began heaving with sobs as he hastily pulled her into his arms, thanking the gods (Old or New, he was no longer sure. The Seven had never aided him that he could see, whilst the Old Gods had brought the young woman in his arms to him and bound them together for the rest of eternity. The Old, then.) that she had forgiven his foolish and reckless actions with Greyjoy.

It would have been far worse if she had recoiled from his embrace, instead of curling into his chest and weeping into the crook of his shoulder as he rubbed her back, kissed her hair and whispered that she was safe, Baratheon would never lay eyes on her again, he would not let the Usurper get away would this, nor would Dorne or her father.

"I never dreamed he would go so far," she hiccupped into his shirt. "I mean, I know that men can lose their senses whilst in their cups, I know that he is attracted to me. But to try and force me, a Marked and married lady of two of the most powerful Great Houses, and when I am with child at that! Is he as mad as Aerys was?"

"He shall not get away with this," Oberyn promised her. "I wrote letters to both your father and Doran before we left, and Lord Whitehill had them sent off with some of his ravens as we left." (The ravens that the Winter Landers all used were specially trained not by the Citadel but by the Warg Guard, who trained them to sense any dangers directed towards them and avoid them. Far safer than the Citadel ones, it had been yet another boon of his marriage when he learned in a letter from Doran that Magnar Stark had sent several of them as gifts along with the sailors and ship builders.)

She was quiet for a moment before exhaling deeply. "There is something that I must tell you," she stated softly.

"Do not distress yourself, my darling," he responded promptly. "Whatever it is, it can surely wait until you are improved."

"No," she shook her head firmly and raised her chin determinedly. "No, I must tell you now. 'Tis important, for our future and our babes'."

He frowned, but before he could say another word, they had locked eyes and he was watching through Alyssa's eyes as the memory of Magnar Stark revealing her true heritage to her and giving her the letter from her mother played out in his mind.

_My sweet baby girl,_

_Oh, my darling, I wish that I were there to tell you these things in person, but I know in my bones that it is not to be. I do not need to see the look in Rosael's eyes to know that I shall not survive birthing you. But, my sweet little wolf-cub, always remember that I would give my life a thousand times over if it meant that you would come into the world._

_I am no greenseer, but I know that the dreams I have been having, of a beautiful girl who looks like me but with violet in her eyes and the complexion and some features of the Valyrians, is you. I regret how you have come to life, that my guards, my father and brother, poor Princess Elia who was so kind to me when I apologized to her after the tourney at Harrenhal and her babes, and so many of our loyal men have suffered on account of Rhaegar's insanity and obsession with a child born of ice and fire. But in truth, my love, I would change nothing, if doing so meant that you never existed._

_Though, I feel the hand of the Old Gods in your life. I dream so much, I am so tired. And whenever I rest, I see you. You with a direwolf, an albino! Gods-touched. You riding a dragon with white scales and blue eyes. You with a crown on your head, seated on the Iron Throne. You holding a pair of babes of your own while a man whose face I cannot see kisses you and you look at him so lovingly. I know in my heart that the Old Gods have shown me your future, so that I know that you will be happy and safe, and mine will be blood well-spilt._

_Rosael and I overhear my guards speaking to each other, discussing the war. Unsurprisingly, my brother is winning. I have faith that he will succeed in avenging our pack, though not, I fear, in time to save my life and allow me to watch you grow up. I wish I could, darling, so much. Despite the events that led to your conception, you are the greatest treasure in my life, and I have loved you with all of my heart since I knew I was with child. I can rest peacefully, knowing that Ned will love you and raise you, and one day you will sit on the Iron Throne, as the greatest ruler to ever live, male or female. And you will be happy, I know it._

_I will name you Alysanne, for three different women. Firstly, for Good Queen Alysanne. It is my hope that you will have her compassion and strong mind. Secondly, for Black Aly, Cregan Stark's wife. I pray the Gods will gift you with her strength and battle-skills, for I fear you will need them. Finally, I name you for my dearest friend, Alysanne Snow, my late Warg Guard, who fell protecting me. There can be no finer namesake for my only daughter. I know that you will have Sanna's strength, her loyalty and loving heart. You will need them, when the future that I have seen comes to pass._

_You will be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, I know it. You will rule over a golden age, and be loved by all, I am certain. The blood of the Winter Kings, and of Old Valyria flows through you. Despite my hatred for Aerys and Rhaegar, the Targaryens have, save for those few exceptions, been good rulers. But when the Seven Kingdoms are lost to time, as always happens eventually, when people read of our history, they will think first of Alysanne Targaryen of House Stark, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lady Protector of the Seven Kingdoms._

_Be strong, my daughter. Be brave. You are a wolf, with the heart of a dragon. Nothing will break you. Remember, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives. So long as you have your pack with you, you will succeed._

_I love you with all my heart,_

_Your mother,_

_Lyanna Stark._

Obeyrn exhaled in a gust, as the image faded. Alyssa was looking at him with a mixture of resolve, solemnity and determination.

He was quiet for several minutes, trying to think about what to do.

'_**You are Rhaegar's sole surviving child,' **_he directed the thought to her, when he had at last sorted out his thoughts. _'__**And, though he forced her to marry him, 'twas still a marriage. You are the rightful queen.'**_

'_**I want no throne, but I fear that I must,' **_she answered, still silent. _**'The Gods have us born to our positions for a reason. I cannot stay silent whilst the people suffer under the Lannisters and Baratheons. I will not. Father did not raise any cravens.'**_

Oberyn pressed his lips to hers, kissing her passionately, pulling back to look at her with an intense gaze. "My queen," he breathed. "I will always be at your side to help you, Alyssa. Your mother was right. You will create a Golden Age. That is the task the Old Gods have for us, for you to rule Westeros and overthrow the Usurper and the lions, and for me to be at your side when you do."

"I never wanted to cause a war."

Oberyn kissed her again. "Twas not you who cause this war," he assured her. "Twas the Baratheons and Lannisters who did so. Even Rhaegar and Aerys both hold some of the blame. But once we announce this, people will flock to us and our cause."

"May the Old Gods be with us all," Alyssa breathed, taking his hand and guiding it to her stomach so that he could feel the babes within her.

"They are," he promised her, before going in for another kiss.


	36. Ned 4

**Disclaimer: I don't own ****ASoIaF****/GoT. Lots of thanks to everyone enjoying this! I hope you continue to do so.**

**Chapter Thirty-Five**

**Ned Four**

_**Winterfell: 31st October, 297 After Conquest**_

_She truly outshines the stars this night,_ Ned thought to himself as he watched with eager eyes as Ashara was escorted down the path by Robb to the heart tree where he stood with Bran and Howland, who was visiting again to officiate the ceremony. Ben was there as well, but Dacey was not, as Lya had a cold and could not be separated from her mother.

He wished that his other children were there, not just his sons and brother, but it was not to be. Alys was already travelling more than he was comfortable with in her state, whilst Arya and Sansa were busy getting settled into their new fosterages. If he were to call them back, it would disrupt them getting acquainted with their new routines and companions. On a more selfish note, he would have to wait for them to arrive, and he had spent fifteen years without Ashara at his side as his wife already. He would not wait another second longer than necessary to have her as his bride at last.

Ashara smiled at him when she arrived at his side, as bright as the sun in the midst of a Dornish summer. Her hair was done in a Northern-style, flowing to her back in a dark waterfall with a circlet of braids wrapped around the crown of her head. She wore a long ivory dress made of crushed velvet, with shoulder straps and off-the-shoulder dagger sleeves with Myrish lace trimming. Her hemline was edged with purple. She had slight train trailing after her, and she wore a lilac cloak with her family's white sword and star sewn on the back. Her jewellery was simple and tasteful, a pair of dangling sapphire-and-silver earrings with a matching necklace looped twice around her elegant neck. It made her violet eyes shine brighter than even the moon itself.

"You are the most beautiful woman in the world," he breathed to her as he took her hand. She beamed back at him, glowing with happiness.

"I am certainly the luckiest, to be marrying the best man alive," she replied. He grinned at her, delighted at her happiness equalling his own. It relieved him that his grotesque facial scar did not make her flinch or grimace, as it done to Catelyn on occasion.

Catelyn. In the eyes of the Faith of the Seven, she was still his wife. But they had never married beneath a heart tree, so Ned had always struggled to genuinely consider her his wife himself, not just his bannermen. He had done his best, but it had never felt right, her claiming the position that had always rightly belonged to Ashara. Sending her away had lifted a heavy weight from his shoulders, and he could not regret it, especially since it had brought Asha back to him. Catelyn Tully was no concern of his, not anymore, and Ned refused to let thoughts of her ruin one of the best days of his life. Only when his children were born had he been so happy.

Howland cleared his throat and began. Ned clutched his bride's hand tightly in his own as the dream he had been having since he met Asha at four-and-ten at last came true.

"Who comes before the Old Gods on this eve?" Howland asked, looking at Ashara.

"Lady Ashara of House Dayne," Robb replied, looking proud to have been chosen to stand as his soon-to-be stepmother's familial representative. He was still a bit wary of her, but Bran adored her already and Robb became warmer to her daily, further lightening Ned's heart. "A noble lady, trueborn and flowered, comes before the Old Gods this eve."

Howland smiled and nodded, then turned to Ned. "Who comes before the Old Gods this eve?" he repeated.

"Magnar Eddard, of House Stark. Warden of the North, Lord Paramount of the Winter Lands, comes before the Old Gods in order to claim Lady Ashara Dayne as his wife," Ned answered, adding _'at last'_ in his mind.

"Do you take this man as your husband?" Howland asked, turning back to Asha.

"I take this man," she declared immediately, before Howland had even properly finished speaking.

"Do you vow to take his feuds, his sorrows and his joys as your own feuds, sorrows and joys?" Howland asked her. "To love, be faithful to and honour him all of your lives? To become one in the eyes of the Old Gods who watch us now?"

"I take this man," she agreed without batting an eyelid in uncertainty. "His feuds are my feuds. His sorrows are my sorrows, and his joys are my joys. I will love, be faithful to and honour him all our lives. This I swear in the eyes of the Old Gods."

Howland turned back to Ned again. "Do you, Eddard of House Stark, take this woman as your bride? Do you vow to take her feuds as your feuds, her sorrows and joys as your own? Do you pledge to defend and care for her all of your lives, taking no other save she to your bed and honouring her all of your lives? Do you swear to this in the eyes of the Old Gods who watch us now?"

"I take this woman as my bride," Ned agreed, feeling like he was glowing with happiness. "Her feuds are my feuds. Her sorrows and joys are mine. I will defend and care for her, taking no other to my bed and honouring her all of our lives. This I swear in the eyes of the Old Gods."

Howland nodded solemnly and stepped aside, gesturing to the heart tree. "Kneel in front of the heart tree for the Gods to judge and bless your marriage," he instructed them.

They went forward and knelt. Ned rested his hand atop Ashara's and bent his head, closing his eyes. A moment later, he felt rough bark slipping over his wrist, forming into their Marriage Bracelets as it went.

When he felt it was finished, he re-opened his eyes and studied the bracelet. It was a direwolf with an uncanny resemblance to Twilight, but with stars for eyes and a sword that looked similar to Dawn clenched in its teeth. It made him smile, for it was just as he and Asha had daydreamed it would be, all of those years ago.

"You may now take off the lady's maiden cloak, and replace it with the cloak of your House. With this act, she will leave the protection of her birth family and enter your own."

Ned solemnly removed the Dayne cloak, handing it to Robb and taking the Stark cloak from Ben, carefully placing it over his bride's slim shoulders. Then, he pulled her into a deep, passionate kiss.

It was like they were the only people left in the godswood. The world could have ended right there, an army of White Walkers could have stormed Winterfell, and all that would have mattered was that he held Ashara in his arms. Finally, she had taken her rightful place at his side as his wife. He was sure that he could easily die without a single regret now.

When they pulled away, he leaned his forehead against hers, smiling and meeting her shining gaze with his one.

"I have a gift for you," she whispered to him, a secretive glint in her glowing eyes.

"You did not have to," he replied warmly, as he lifted her palm to his mouth so that he could kiss the back of her hand.

She grinned, a hint of mischief glinting in her expression, as she took his free hand and brought it against her stomach. He inhaled sharply, feeling his own eyes go wide with hope and delight.

"Are you certain?"

"Aye, I spoke to a midwife in WinterCity yesterday and she confirmed it," Ashara nodded.

Ned let out a laugh of pure joy and picked her up, swinging her around in utter glee. "We are having a child!" he cried in delight.

"Finally," Asha breathed, tears sparkling in her gaze again as he pulled her into another kiss. He was too lost in her to notice that the others had filed out of the godswood entirely, leaving them to celebrate their union and coming babe in privacy.

* * *

_**Winterfell: 3**__**rd**__** November, 297 After Conquest**_

Three days later, a letter arrived that destroyed all of Ned's happiness at his new marriage and coming child, replacing it with raw fury.

He read through it twice to ensure he had gleaned everything from it. By the looks of it, his goodson had scribbled it quickly, but Ned could almost feel the rage Oberyn had been feeling as he wrote to inform Ned of what had happened.

_**24**__**th**__** October, 297 AC**_

_**Magnar Stark,**_

_**This is a short letter bearing grave news. First, I will assure you that my wife, your eldest daughter the Princess Alyssa, is unharmed, though very shaken up by the morn's events. She has been examined by a Scholar assigned to the household of your cousin, Lord Donnel Whitehill, who sees no signs of miscarriage, though we shall continue to maintain a vigilant demeanour in regards to her health after the shock she has gone through today.**_

_**Now, I am sure that you are very alarmed that I felt the need to write this, so I shall get to the point. This morning, I went to the Great Hall to meet with Lord Baelor Hightower and his wife the Lady Melessa, in order to discuss my daughter Sarella going to visit with them for several weeks. The Princess was to join me, but she felt ill due to her mother's stomach, and was late arriving.**_

_**Shortly after meeting with Lord and Lady Hightower, I heard noises of weapons being unsheathed and yells coming from the corridor, and also felt Alyssa's distress through our bond. I promptly ran to investigate and found **_(here the writing, already sharper than typical for the Red Viper, became shaky from the anger of its' author.) _**the **__**Usu**__** the King, attempting to force my Marked wife to join him in his chambers. He was quite obviously deep in his cups, and persistently calling her by the name of her lady aunt, the late Magnara Lyanna. Ygritte, in her capacity as Alyssa's sworn shield, injured one of the Kingsguard severely, and it is doubtful that he will survive. In truth, I pray that he will not.**_

_**The Lord Hand attempted to smooth over the assault, but offering the heads of my sister's murders is not enough compensation for Alyssa being attacked and shamed in such a manner. Especially when we are under guest right! I will not stand for it. **_

_**You know well how sweet of a nature my love has, and how distressing this incident would be for her, given her history. Scholar Whitewolf was forced to dose her with dreamwine as she was so upset, and he has graciously taken it upon himself to come with us, as the Scholar you agreed to send has not yet arrived there. **_

_**My household is leaving when the tide is ready, and we will return to Sunspear as posthaste. I am dispatching this letter using one of Lord Whitehill's Ice Ravens to get the news to you as soon as possible. I am sure that I am not overstepping myself by saying that neither Dorne nor the North will stand for this.**_

_**I will keep you updated on Alyssa's condition, and that of the twins that she carries.**_

_**Yours sincerely,**_

_**Oberyn Nymeros Martell, Prince of Dorne. Marked husband to Princess Alyssa Martell, Magnara of House Stark.**_

There was another letter, too. That one was from Jon, and it was filled with excuses and reminders of Robert's love for Ned, calling him "as much your brother as Benjen and Brandon, perhaps more, for you never fought side-by-side with either of them during the war to save your sister and avenge your family". It was a blatant attempt to manipulate Ned into backing down from seeking justice on his daughter's behalf. It would not work.

Ned had never been as fond of Jon and Robert as they were of him, they were too southron for it, and he been losing more and more respect for the pair of them since the Rebellion. Still, he had thought them good but flawed men until poor Princess Elia and her babes had been cruelly slaughtered and Robert had spat on their bodies, whilst Jon suggested that they be displayed to make any remaining loyalists back down. And with every month that passed, the realm sinking further and further into disgrace from Robert's excesses and Jon's inability to corral him, Ned had become more contemptuous of them.

In his youth, before he had led a troop of three hundred men to kill the entirety of the Tarly host, everyone had called Eddard Stark "the Quiet Wolf". He had been dismissed as shy and unnoticeable, and generally called 'reasonable' at best. Nobody had feared him. Nobody had believed he had any particular skill in battle, and it had seemed that all of the wolf's blood of his generation had skipped him over completely.

It had not been until he'd been told by his foster father what had happened to his family and their leal men, their _pack_, not until he was told that Aerys was demanding the heads of Benjen and Ned himself as well, that Ned become truly furious for the first time, and during the Rebellion he had shown that he was as much a direwolf as his elder brother had been.

When he had become a father, when he had seen his sweet little Alys suffering at Catelyn's hands for no reason save the woman's spite and bitterness, Ned had felt raw rage for the second time in his life. Now, he felt that burning fury coursing through his veins for the third time.

Ned could hardly breathe, and his vision was tinted red from his anger. The letter trembled in his hands, and the urge to call his banners and unleash the wolves of the North onto the Southrons who dared to harm his sweet girl, was nearly unresistable.

If Ashara had not entered at that precise moment, he might very well have gone to give the order right then and there.

"Ned, what is it, my love?" she asked immediately upon seeing his furious expression, eyes wide with worry for him as she hastened to his side and cupped his jaw in her delicate hands.

"That bastard!" Ned spat. "I trusted him, called him a friend! I know well that he has more faults than virtues, that he is a disgraceful excuse for a ruler! But I never once thought him capable of rape, more the fool I! Who does he think he is, to lay hands on my daughter?! I will have war over this, Asha, I will! I did not let the dragons get away with what they did to my family, I'll not allow Robert to get away with this either!"

"My love, I do not understand," she said worriedly. "What happened, is Alys well? Please, my love, tell me what has occurred." He pulled away from her to pace alongside Twilight, who was snarling and shaking his purple-black furred head. Serene was squawking and flapping her wings angrily, her talons scrapping at her perch.

"Robert," he hissed the name as if it were a curse. "He tried, that thrice-be-damned, drunken, past-obsessed cur! He tried to force himself on _my daughter_! My Marked, pregnant daughter! I will make him pay for this, he shall not escape my sword! I will not even allow him the mercy of being sacrificed to the weirwoods in order to receive redemption from the gods! I will see him rot in the deepest, darkest pit of the seven hells!

And Jon Arryn dares to write to me, trying to excuse the behaviour as a mistake born of drink! He dares to claim to love my sister, when he never even knew her and was not even truly betrothed to her and never would be, and now he seeks to have Alys in his bed in Lyanna's stead! 'Tis a disgrace to them both! By the Old Gods, he will pay for this!"

Asha looked angry too, but she held to her temper for his sake. "He will, Ned," she promised. "But we cannot act rashly. Send a letter to Prince Doran, to discuss how to react to this insult, that Dorne and the Winter Lands might act in concert with each other for gaining justice. Remember, my love, 'tis not like with Lyanna. The Gods themselves have shown themselves to be on your daughter's side, and they will remain with her. You said that he tried to force her, meaning she escaped, and if Oberyn is remotely like the man I grew up with, he will ensure that this never happens again. Have faith, my love. Your children are strong. Alys will be well, I know it."

He let out a shaky breath and pulled her into his arms, leaning his forehead against hers. "I love you," he murmured to her.

Had it been Catelyn, she would not have tried to reassure him. More likely, she would have considered it Alys' fault, somehow, as with Greyjoy and the Bolton Bastard. She would have capitalized it as a way to try and convince him to try and separate their children from his natural daughter, in order to remove them from Alys' 'influence'.

But Ashara was the opposite. She was holding him, comforting him and agreeing with him that the guilty would be punished. She was reassuring him that Alys would be alright, and her babes too. By the Old Gods, how had he ever managed to live fifteen years without her at his side?

He finally pulled away, still seething but no longer on the verge of ordering the Army to march south immediately. "You are right, I must contact Prince Doran. Are you alright, you ought to be resting, my shining star."

"I am with child, not an invalid, beloved," she replied lovingly. "Do not be concerned, have I not the best healers in Westeros at my beck and call? But, would you like me to go and tell the boys what happened?"

He exhaled and shook his head. "Actually, would you write to the Prince whilst I go and tell the boys? You know him better than I, and you are Lady of Winterfell now. 'Tis perfectly acceptable for you to do so. I want to break the news to the boys myself, they will be devastated. Especially Robb, he is so protective of his sisters."

Ashara smiled briefly and automatically when he mentioned her new status, then turned serious again. "Of course, but Ned, we have not discussed-should I admit that it is I, or use an alias?"

Ned blinked then shrugged and kissed her. "You are the Magnara Consort of the North," he stated firmly. "And will be whatever name you decide to go by. The North will stay silent should that be your desire. But, I feel that I must remind you that, if you do not announce that 'tis you, you will not have any reason to contact your sister and nephew, and I know that you long to do so."

Ashara nodded and exhaled, closing and reopening her eyes. "Well, then," she murmured. "It seems that 'tis time for the world to learn that Ashara Dayne lives. Or rather, that Ashara Stark does. Go to your sons, my love. Their presence will soothe your distress. I will be along once I have finished writing the letter."


	37. Alyssa 9

**Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT. This is a **_**very important**_**, chapter. It has a timeskip of about five months, to the next March. Alys is around seven-eight months pregnant.**

**Chapter Thirty-Six**

**Alyssa Nine**

_**Shadow City: March 21**__**st**__**, 298 After Conquest**_

Tension filled the atmosphere of the Shadow City, covered by a layer of feigned lightness put on by those old enough to know what was happening for the sake of the children. But even the children understood that something was wrong. After all, men were being conscripted into the army, more and more fathers receiving orders to join the Dornish army every day, and news of skirmishes with the Crown's fractured forces came at irregular intervals, the information always spreading quickly from the servants at Sunspear.

Alys blamed herself for it all. Everyone insisted that it had not been her fault, that the Usurper (as even her father had started to call the Stag King) was the reason this was happening._ War has been coming as long as you have been alive, my love, _her husband told her insistently. _This was just the last straw._

But Alys still felt guilty. She was certain that it was all her fault. She had tried not to encourage the king's attentions, but she had not done anything to stop him, either. Though she had assumed that her Mark would prevent anything occurring, she had clearly been a fool to think so, and now they were at war.

It had taken four months of increasingly hostile negotiations before the expected violence had erupted at last. The only silver lining in it all was that everyone was confident that it would not be a long war. Though that did not mean it would not be a bloody one.

The North had marched three months' past, and the main part of their ground forces were currently engaged in fighting in Vale, aided by the Riverlands, who had leapt on the chance to improve their relations with the families of the Marked pair. The Northern Navy had been split in half along with the Reach's, parts dedicated to protecting the coasts of Dorne, the North and the Reach from the Lannisters and the Ironborn (who had taken advantage of the excuse of Greyjoy's death and the chaos engulfing Westeros to attack everywhere indiscriminately). The forces of the Reach and Dorne were half-mobilized, and those ready had been dispatched to various regions and to guard the Red Mountains.

The good thing, for those who were fighting against the Crown, was the fact that the Crown was acting against a Marked couple, severely hampered the Crown's ability to gather forces. Most of the smallfolk of the Westerlands were officially in rebellion against the Lannisters, too. Baratheon officially had the support of the Stormlands, the Vale and the Westerlands, but they had much less men available than they should due to many refusing to fight for them. The reveal of Alys' heritage, announced by Magnar Stark in a letter to every House in Westeros and supported by Lord Reed and a copy of the testimony of the late Septon who had performed the wedding between Lyanna Stark and Prince Rhaegar, had brought most of the Crownlands flocking to them too, but things remained tense.

Alys herself was quietly terrified. Her pregnancy meant that leaving the safety of Dorne whilst the Seven Kingdoms were at war was not an option for either herself or her soulmate. But she could both feel and see Oberyn's anxious desire to aid the army, and dreaded that he might decide to risk the bond separation sickness after the babes' births. She herself would not leave her twins, not when they were so young, nor was she willing to leave Dorea and Loreza either, so if he decided to go, he would have to go without her.

On top of that worry, whilst Ashara and her goodsister Jonelle remained at Winterfell, both of them also with child, Alys' father and brother were both leading different sections of the Northern Army. Bran's fostering had been delayed for the sake of there being a Stark by blood in Winterfell to power the wards of on the Wall that kept the White Walkers at bay. Her father was fighting in the Vale, aided by the knowledge he had gained from his years fostering there, whilst Robb was with the navy, going to lay siege to Storm's End.

Alys knew that her family had received the best training that the North could provide, but life was unpredictable. Her great-great grandfather Willem Stark had died because he had slipped on a patch of black ice in the middle of a battle. Anything could happen during a war and her heart would shatter into pieces if something were to happen to one of her loved ones.

"Cheer up, Alys," Sarella whispered to her, breaking her from her brooding. "People are looking to you, Princess. If you seem troubled, they will think that the war is going poorly, and 'twill make them fearful. Please, try to appear happy, at the least."

Happy? How could she possibly even try and pretend to be happy, after the news that had arrived that morning? The writing scrawled in the letter seemed to have been branded onto the back of her eyelids.

_**During the Sack of King's Landing by the treacherous Lannisters and their army, I was secretly entrusted by my mother, the late Princess Elia Targaryen of House Martell, to a group of trusted servants who then smuggled me to safety. The babe killed in the Sack was a lowborn boy of the right age with dyed hair.**_

_**I have lived in the Free Cities all of my life, hidden under the mask of Young Griff. I was raised by my father (the late Crown Prince Rhaegar Targaryen)'s most trusted friend and former Hand of the King to my grandfather King Aerys, Lord Jon Connington of Griffin's Roost, preparing to one day take my rightful place as King of the Seven Kingdoms.**_

_**Last year, I wed my aunt, Princess Daenaerys Targaryen. We now come to reclaim our place as King and Queen. I trust, Uncle Doran, that we can rely on you to aid us in overthrowing the Usurper and regaining our rightful places.**_

_**I look forward to your response.**_

_**My sincerest regards, **_

_**Your nephew,**_

_**Aegon Targaryen, Sixth of His Name, King of the Rhoynar, Andals and the First Men, Lord Protector of the Realm, Defender of the Faith, King of Westeros.**_

The letter had sparked outrage and shock, especially when it came accompanied by the news that Daenaerys Targaryen was also with child, and that the pair had an army of their own who had managed to capture Dragonstone. Nobody knew what had happened to Lady Shireen Baratheon, and Lord Stannis was away helping command the Crown's navy. But Lady Selyse had been executed, her head sent to King's Landing with another letter that also announced the arrival of 'King Aegon' and his aunt-wife.

Unlike the people of Westeros, neither the Dothraki nor the Unsullied would care about the fact that Oberyn and Alys were Marked. In fact, being Marked could work against them. There were stories of how the savage Dothraki considered it a curse instead of a blessing to be Marked. The Unsullied, meanwhile, were mindless and surely had no concern for the wills of the gods, if they even realized that the gods existed in the first place.

Varys, who had defected to them almost immediately after the outbreak of the war, had been quick to dismiss the possibility of it being the real son of Elia Martell.

"Perhaps even he and Lord Connington believe that 'tis so," Varys had stated. "But they are wrong. This is a mummer Aegon, the last of the Blackfyres, through the female line. You need only look for the late babe's birthmark to prove it. There was no way for the late Princess to smuggle out either of her children, she was too closely guarded. Nor, I believe, would she had prioritized the safety of one babe over the other. She would not have agreed to save Aegon if Rhaenys could also be saved, and they were housed together, meaning were they able to smuggle the children out, both would have been able to be safely spirited away. I believed I had convinced Illyrio of the foolishness of the plan, but clearly not."

Oberyn was enraged by the letter, unhealed scars flaring back to life at the thought of his sister's son's memory being used for political gain. Alys had nearly been afraid of him then, would probably have recoiled at the raw fury on his face and coursing through the bond if not for the anguish she could also feel. He had refused to allow her to comfort him, storming off to gods-only-knew-where with Obara.

Alys, meanwhile, had been left shaken and worried. Sarella had eventually suggested that the two of them go down to the school they had opened in Shadow City, where they could perform their twice-weekly visitation and inspection, then go wandering the bazaar and debate what materials to use Sarella's dress for her upcoming wedding to Samwell Tarly before they went to meet with Arianne for a late lunch to coo over the former Princess' young daughter, Mariah Martell.

Arianne had, thankfully, decided to willingly relinquish all desire for the Sunchair. In recognition of their reconcilement, Doran, with help from Alys and Oberyn, had gotten the High Septon to dissolve Arianne's marriage to the Darkstar. At the time, they had still been in negotiations with the Crown and Jon Arryn had tried to soften them by legitimizing Mariah as a Martell along with the former Sand Snakes. The bribe had failed.

The good news was that Sam was a nice young man, around Alys' age. He was quite shy in general, but once he started discussing a topic that he had interest in, he could talk non-stop for hours. He had only an average ability with swordplay, and that had been honed over years over careful guidance from his stepfather and tutors, but Lord Hightower, after observing his stepson's keen mind, had nurtured a great skill in tactics in the young Lord of Horn Hill. Sam openly admitted that, had he any relatives on the Tarly side to inherit his lands, he probably would have given them up to go either to the Citadel to become a Maester or to the University to become a Scholar. But, as Alys' own father had removed that option, he ruled his lands under his stepfather's guidance instead. Much to Alys' relief, neither Sam nor Lady Melessa held any grief towards the Starks for the death of Sam's father, and she had come to think of him as a good friend (much to her husband's dismay. Oberyn resented Sam on principal for wanting Sarella's hand, and disliked that Sam had few disagreeable characteristics to make his resentment justified).

Sarella had enjoyed her time spent at Horn Hill, debating various topics with and learning about her betrothed. Neither Lord nor Lady Hightower had held her birth against her, and she had gotten on well with their own children, little Lords Uthor and Jason as well as young Lady Talla. Sam openly declared that he desired his wife to be his partner in life, not his servant, something that was rare outside of Dorne and the Winter Lands, and they got along well, having similar temperaments and habits. As such, Sarella had written to her father that she was very much in favour of marrying Lord Tarly. The wedding was set to happen the following year.

"Princess, are you tired?" Ser Daemon, who was her assigned guard for the day (along with Ygritte, of course), asked her concernedly.

Alys forced a smile and waved off his worries, resting a hand on her swollen stomach. "'Tis merely the heat and the babes, Ser," she assured him. "But, Sarella, I am sorry. I fear I must cut this sojourn short and retire to the palace. I desperately need to lie down."

She wished for Ghost's presence, but her faithful direwolf was enjoying the heat of Dorne as much as the rest of the Northern retinue. Arya, who continually forgot to drink enough unless reminded regularly by Val, had collapsed from sun sickness multiple times. Actually, all of the Northerners had. Alys herself was in an even worse state, given her pregnancy, and she had found herself lying down for naps so often that Ygritte insisted that she was becoming nocturnal.

"Do not be concerned," Sarella assured her. "There is still lots of time, after all. We can come again tomorrow if you feel well enough. The important thing is that you look after yourself and my newest sisters."

"Sister and brother," Alys corrected her stubbornly. Her Uncle Howland and younger brother had both written to her, confirming her suspicions that she was carrying a son as well as a daughter, but many of the southrons, unused to the abilities of the greenseers, had dismissed it. Would they not be surprised when her boy was born? It would show them not to doubt the greenseers, something that satisfied the religious part of her personality.

"Aye," Ygritte agreed with Sarella's previous statement. "Alys, do you want me to help you walk back?" Her blue eyes were worried as she scanned the princess. Alys dismissed her suggestion with a casual wave.

"No need, we shall just go slowly," she replied easily. She glanced around, frowning as the hair on the back of her neck prickled in warning.

Nobody outside of her small group seemed to be paying too much attention to her. Her regular trips to the market had meant that people had grown used to her presence. Everything looked normal, but something made Alys feel uneasy. Ygritte seemed to sense it too, resting one hand lightly on one of her belt knives and stepping closer to the pregnant young lady.

"Let's go," Ygritte urged. "Alys, I'll help you."

"Yes, actually I think that's a good idea after all," Alys agreed, feeling nervous. Ser Daemon was examining the area warily, and Sarella had also moved closer to her young stepmother. All of them felt the danger in the air, and were eager to escape it.

The three of them surrounded Alys as they made their way out of the bazaar. The crowd was thick, however, and Alys found herself separated from her escort without understanding how.

She darted a frantic look around herself, curling a protective arm around her swollen belly. "Ygritte?" she called, cursing her short stature as she tried to spot her friend's red hair, unique in the crowd of brunette locks and raven-black curls. "Ygritte?"

A moment later, she let out a cry and flung herself out of the way as a knife came speeding towards her, held by a portly man of average height, with dark hair and pig-like eyes. She was able to escape being stabbed in the heart, but the weight of her belly made her fall roughly to the ground. She could hear screams and yelling, the sounds of weapons clashing against each other. But she barely noted any of it.

All she could see was her attacker advancing on her, and her thoughts were filled with frantic fear for the babes within her. Something had seemed to snap when she fell, and now Alys was feeling pain ripping through her lower abdomen. Something was terribly wrong, and she and her twins were still in danger.

The man dived at her again, and Alys tried to roll out of the way, but she was too slow and she let out a scream of pain as the knife sunk into her shoulder.

"Stay still and die, you heretic Northern bitch!" she heard the man snarl, as she groaned in agony. Further away, she heard somebody that she thought was Ygritte yelling something that Alys couldn't make out.

Black spots danced in front of her vision, and the pain from her stomach and shoulder were so bad she couldn't gather the strength to scramble out of the way as he again advanced towards her.

'_Oberyn, I am sorry,' _she thought towards her husband, resigning herself to death.

The last thing she saw before falling into the blackness of unconsciousness was a young boy whom she recognized from the school, as well as a young man she thought might be Gendry, who was also attending lessons, jumping at her would-be assassin.


	38. Oberyn 9

**Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT. Oh wow, I'm shocked everyone was so panicked about the babies! I promise, they're fine. In fact, they're here! A few more chapters left in ASoMS, then we go on to Book Two: A Clash of Crowns, which will be about the War for the Iron Throne (Alys & Oberyn versus Lannisters versus Faegon & Dany) and the War for the Dawn.**

**Chapter Thirty-Seven**

**Oberyn Nine**

_**Just outside of Sunspear: March 21st, 298 After Conquest**_

The sudden feeling of his soulmate being stabbed had made him bend over double in startled agony in the middle of hacking at a tree with his spear to vent his fury. His shock and surprise had quickly turned to panic when he realized that Alys had been attacked. Ignoring Obara and Ulwyk's worried questioning, Oberyn ran for his horse and swung himself into the saddle.

"Alyssa is hurt," he bit out in explanation as he kicked the sand steed into motion. "She's been stabbed. I think she may be in labour, also." At least, he assumed that the gods-awful pain radiating from Alys' stomach were labour pains. In any other situation, he would have been morbidly impressed. If this was an echo of the pain of labour, then the next man who called a woman weak in front of him would find himself short of a tongue. Nobody weak could go through such agony and survive.

His companions' expressions darkened as they hastened to their own mounts. It went unsaid that his wife was still a fortnight away from entering her confinement, and the twins were not due to be born for almost two more months. True, twins were often born early, but that was _not_ a good thing. His own sister had been born a full moon before she was meant to be, and her health had ever been fragile and delicate because of it.

He forced those thoughts away and focused on hurrying to back to Sunspear as fast as he could, cursing his decision to storm off and work off his frustration away from the palace.

What had happened?

She had been attacked, that was obvious. But whom? Well, obviously they were Lannister men, for who else would be so audacious as to attack a Princess of Dorne in the middle of the Martells' territory?

He cursed himself again, this time for giving into Alys' pleas to lessen her escort. Initially, right after their return home from King's Landing, he had insisted she have a minimum of four guards with her in the palace, and no less than double that number when she went outside the grounds of the keep. But Alyssa had swiftly become frustrated by the constant presence and pressed to lessen it. He had eventually given in and allowed her to go around with only Ygritte and one other, and now they were both paying the price for it.

This was the _second_ time he had failed to be there to protect her when she needed him. Gods, how had he not learned his lesson yet?

He would never forgive himself if she did not recover, or if the babes were lost.

Both thoughts were too horrific for him to dwell on, and he refused to think of it as the gates of the Sunship came into view. Even without the echoing feeling of Alyssa's pain and the distant sensation that told him she was unconscious, Oberyn would have known something was wrong.

The gates were locked and barred, with double the usual amount of guards, all with weapons ready.

The gate was pulled open as he, Obara and Ulwyk came galloping up, and Ser Dezial Dalt came out, grim-faced.

"Princess Alyssa-" he began to say, as Oberyn stormed past him.

"Is hurt, I know," Oberyn cut him off quickly. "What happened? Where is my wife?"

"In her rooms," Dezial replied, hurrying to keep up with Oberyn's long strides. "She is giving birth, she was stabbed in the market. A group of assassins managed to separate her from her guards, and she went into labour from the attack. The midwives, Scholar Whitewolf and his assistants are all with her now."

"The attackers?" Oberyn demanded, seething with a mixture of panic and fear for his young soulmate.

"Ten of them, that we know of," Dezial reported promptly. "All men, seven from the Westerlanders and three others from the Free Cities. They were disguised as merchants. Of them, three yet live, though all are injured. They are in the dungeons, where Princess Nymeria is overseeing their interrogation now. The others were all killed."

"What about her guards?" This time it was Ulwyk who spoke, his tone filled with worry. Oberyn knew that he was thinking of his betrothed. Ygritte was fiercely devoted to Alyssa. She would not have allowed her to be harmed whilst Ygritte had breath in her lungs to stand between Alys and any threats.

"Ser Daemon is badly injured, 'tis unknown if he will live through the night," Dezial informed them grimly. "Lady Ygritte is also injured. They were forced to give her dreamwine to put her to sleep. She was confused by a wound to the head, and kept attempting to rise and go to the princess, insisting that the princess needed her." He hesitated, exhaled heavily, then went on to add. "Princess Sarella was also with Princess Alyssa. She too was hurt, and I do not know how severely."

Oberyn faltered, feeling sick. Obara was white as she moved to his side, a faint tremble in her hands. "Where is my sister?" she inquired, Oberyn too horrified for words. His pregnant soulmate and daughter both needed him, yet he could not be in two places at once. What did he do?

"Princess Sarella is being tended in her rooms by Maester Caleotte with Princess Tyene, and Princess Alyssa is in her own with Princess Arianne, Scholar Whitewolf and the midwives, as well as her ladies-in-waiting," Dezial explained solemnly.

Obara turned to Oberyn. "Father, you go to my stepmother. She will no doubt desire your comfort whilst my youngest siblings come into the world. I will go to Sarella. Do not fear, I am certain that all shall be well."

Oberyn gave a curt nod, wrangling the guilt he felt at not going to his daughter into the back of his mind as he hastened for Alys' rooms.

As he drew near, he heard the sounds of barked orders, and saw that his own cabinet, the one he kept securely locked and filled with various potions and philtres, had been forced open. One of Scholar Whitewolf's two assistant Scholars was rummaging through it, grabbing the ones that Oberyn recognized as being for healing and letting the poisons fall to the ground indifferently and shatter and spill over the floor in his haste. The door separating the bedchamber from the main solar was open, with ladies and servants running around in response to various orders being barked by Scholar Whitewolf and the midwives.

Oberyn forced his way through the chaos, frantic to reach Alyssa's side. Scholar Whitewolf's other assistant was at her left shoulder, cleaning a wound and preparing to sew the skin back together. Rosael was standing beside the Scholar himself at the end of the bed, alongside two midwives. They were all locked in an argument.

There seemed to be blood everywhere that Oberyn looked. Too much for it all to have come from his tiny wife, surely? Ladies Lyra Mormont and Jeyne Fowler were removing the bloodstained sheets currently on the bed, and adding them to a large bundle of blood-soaked ones held by a servant, who promptly scurried off with them.

Oberyn finally reached Alyssa's free side, Lady Maege Seastark stepping out of the way to let him take his wife's hand. She was so pale that she seemed to blend in with the sheets, her eyelashes resting unmoving on her snow-white cheeks. He had never seen her so still and pale, even after the Usurper's assault. Oberyn swallowed and looked at Scholar Whitewolf and Rosael.

"My wife? Our babes?"

"As you no doubt know by now, there was an attempt on the Princess' life, Your Highness," Rosael announced. Her brown eyes shone with sorrow and fear for the life of the girl she had raised from birth. "She was stabbed in the shoulder, and her waters have broken from falling, but the babes are not in the correct position to be born yet. We are arguing what is the safest thing to do."

"What will save my wife's life?" he demanded, infuriated that the group had been wasting time arguing while Alyssa bled out on their bed.

They exchanged looks, grimacing. "Her Highness has lost much blood, Your Grace," Scholar Whitewolf warned. "And one of the babes is in the breech position, so she will lose more before the children come."

It went unsaid that Alyssa was still over a moon from her due date, and her pregnancy had not been particularly smooth. It had not been the worst of pregnancies, but the heat and her own generally-delicate state of health had meant she had not been enjoying her state, and Oberyn himself had been irrationally annoyed at himself for putting her in her condition.

"Whatever must be done to save the Princess, do it," he ordered.

The group all looked grim, but bowed to his wishes. They burst into action.

"We must deliver the children," Lady Fowler, one of the midwives, decreed. "She will continue losing blood until we do so."

"The Princess is unconscious, she cannot push!" Assistant Scholar Arron Hornwood protested.

"We can press on her stomach, maneuver the babes into a better position and push them out ourselves," another of the midwives, Mariah Sand of House Toland suggested.

Oberyn hated his helplessness as he watched them do so. It was even worse when they began manipulating his children's positions, making Alyssa let out an inhuman scream of pain. The pain was so bad that he doubled over from the force of it, despite her unconscious state. He could not imagine how much worse it was for her, experiencing it first-hand. He could only be thankful that she was unconscious and thus oblivious to her own torment.

After what seemed like hours, Rosael pulled a tiny, blood-covered form from Alyssa's body. "A girl!" she announced, to no one's surprise, as she slapped the babe's rump. It triggered a small, weak wail that was possibly the sweetest sound Oberyn had ever heard, though he knew it was no guarantee that the child would survive her early and traumatic birth.

His tenth child came a few moments later. Again, the midwives and Scholars forced the child to leave the safety of its' mother's womb, and again Alyssa cried out in pain though she still failed to wake and she continued to weaken. At least by now her shoulder wound had been bandaged as best it could be, the flow of blood stemmed.

"It's a boy!" Rosael cried. "Scholar, the cord! It's around his neck!"

Dread and terrified fury warred in Oberyn's breast as he watched, helpless to do anything but hold his wife's limp hand, as half of the group rushed to tend to the babes whilst the rest bent over Alyssa to try and save her.

He reached out through their bond for her, but felt nothing in response. He was so distracted that it came as a surprise when Rosael shoved his daughter, now clean and wrapped snugly in a blanket, into his arms and pushed him towards the door.

"I'll not leave," he tried to object, only to be cut off by the woman.

"You are only getting in the way and taking up space! Get your daughter to a wetnurse while we try to save your wife and son!" With that, she pushed him out of the door and slammed it in his face. The loud bang made his newest daughter whimper, and he looked down at her.

She had the red skin of all newborns, with a thin layer of dark curls on her head. Her eyes were closed and she was squirming weakly in his arms. Of all his daughters, his ninth was the smallest at birth. He could see her mother in her delicate features already, and it made his heart clench along with the sounds coming from inside the bedchamber that spoke of the desperate attempts to save his son and wife.

"Find a wetnurse," he ordered a guard hovering nearby before going to sit down and rock his fussing child. "Your Mama and brother will be fine, little one," he promised the babe. "Mama is a strong woman, and your brother will be strong too. Our family is blessed by the gods. They will not take them. Either of them."

He prayed that he wasn't lying to her. His connection to his soulmate had not been so weak since before they had made skin contact for the first time.

And his son! By the Gods, he had a son! He loved his daughters fiercely, of course. But he wanted his son to grow. He wanted to see the boy grow up. With Oberyn and Alyssa as parents, no doubt he would become a deadly warrior with a great intellect. And his daughters were so young. They needed their mother. All three of his youngest daughters, for Dorea and Loreza loved Alys as dearly as if she had birthed them and she in turn would gladly give her life for them, he knew.

The gods couldn't take them. Oberyn wasn't even concerned about how he would follow his soulmate to the grave. It wouldn't be some sort of trauma from the broken bond that killed him, he realized, but the grief of a life bereft of Alyssa's sweetness, her musical voice, her demure outside that distracted from the young woman who would rip the world apart to protect those she loved. A life without Alyssa was no life at all. Even his children wouldn't be enough to save him from his heartbreak, regardless of how much he loved them.

The wetnurse arrived as he brooded, and Oberyn reluctantly handed the babe to her. The little babe refused to latch for several stressful minutes, and Oberyn hated himself even more. Insane though it seemed, he was certain that his youngest daughter knew it was not her mother trying to feed her, and she was objecting to it.

"_Northern mothers feed their babes themselves,"_ Alyssa had said, a steely look in her eyes._ "On this, I will not budge. I will nurse our babes myself."_

He'd smiled at her, adoring the flash of determination in her._ "Oh, my darling," _he'd replied. _"I cannot think of a more wonderful sight than our twins held to your breast. Of course, you will feed them."_

But now that promise was broken. There was no question of Alyssa being able to feed the babes, whether she lived or not. Her body would not be able for the strain of it. _**Gods, please, let her live,**_ he begged again. _**Not Alyssa. Please, do not take her from me. Please.**_

* * *

_**Sunspear: March 24th, 298 After Conquest**_

Three days. Three long days of worrying for the fates of his wife, son and fourth-born daughter. Thankfully, Sarella had been pronounced stable several hours after the attack, but she was confined to bed and being carefully watched for any signs of her stomach wound becoming infected.

His newborn twin children were also tiny and weak, though they were stubbornly clinging to life. Somebody was with them at all times, with one of the Scholar's or Maester's assistants in the corner of the room and a runner prepared to fetch a healer the moment that one of the nurses noticed something was wrong.

In truth, Oberyn had barely seen them. He had been with Alyssa almost constantly, holding her hand and pleading with her to wake. But despite his pleas, she had failed to indulge his desires for the first time since their wedding, and continued to sleep. On the rare occasions he left her side, he went to check on Sarella, and peek in on the twins quickly before heading straight back to his wife.

Scholar Whitewolf and the maesters both insisted that her long sleep was a good thing, and that it would help her heal. But Oberyn had studied the arts of healing at the Citadel, and he had seen the looks in their eyes grow grimmer with each passing hour that she failed to stir. The longer she slept, the higher the risk that she would never wake again.

It was Ygritte who made him leave her side, in the end. The redhead came into the room, jaw set stubbornly and glowering at him. She walked with a faint limp from the knife to her left thigh, bruises covered her face and her breathing was the careful breath of someone in pain and trying to hide it. She had taken two knife wounds to her torso and broken three ribs fighting to get to Alyssa during the attack.

Even when she had been knocked unconscious, Ygritte had not gone down easy, and of the seven attackers killed, she had taken down four, Daemon two, the other killed by Gendry Waters when he had leaped to defend Alys.

"You need to get out of these rooms," Ygritte announced bluntly, as uncaring as always of the fact that he was her superior in rank. "Take a bath, see your children. Stop moping around uselessly."

He glared at her, annoyed. "I am not moping," he answered coolly. "I am staying by my wife's side whilst she recovers."

Ygritte rolled her eyes and went to sit on Alyssa's other side. "She'll not thank you when she wakes up and learns that you have barely set eyes on your children since she was attacked," Ygritte warned him. "Dorea and Loreza keep asking everybody where their mama and papa are, why you have not come to see them in so long. You have not yet even announced the twins' names."

"Alyssa wanted, _wants_, to announce their names herself," Oberyn informed her. "'Tis tradition in Dorne for the mother to present the children. I will not take that from her."

Ygritte let out a tired sigh. He could see her own worry and exhaustion shining in her blue eyes. Despite their regular arguments, Oberyn knew that Ygritte cared for him for Alyssa's sake, just as he did for the spearwife. "Just go and get some sleep, will you not?" she sighed. "Wash, see your children. I shall stay with her. You are not eating or sleeping properly, and that drains her strength too. You are not helping her by weakening yourself."

Oberyn wanted to refuse, but he knew that she was right. Alyssa would be emotionally upset and physically weakened by his actions, and he had to acknowledge that he desperately needed to wash himself. He sighed and stood, leaning over to kiss his wife's forehead. She failed to stir, let alone turn towards him as she usually would when he kissed any part of her as she slept, paining him further.

"Should anything change," he began, Ygritte interrupting him.

"Then I will have you fetched immediately, though if something occurs you will likely know it before anyone else," she finished. "Of course, now go. You stink."

He scoffed, and reluctantly forced himself to leave the rooms, feeling his stomach twist more in guilt at what felt like him abandoning his wife in her time of need with each step.

After washing and having a short sleep (which he had to admit did make him feel a bit better), Oberyn went first to the nursery where he kissed Dorea and Loreza's heads (the two were fast asleep, as it was near the hour of the owl) and then gathered up the twins in his arms, both of the children bundled up tightly. With their weights resting in his arms, he made his way to the small godswood that Alyssa and the other Northerners had planted their very first day in Sunspear, even before they had gone to the thrice-damned city that was the capital of the Seven Kingdoms.

His son was silent in his arms, gazing up at Oberyn with solemn eyes that were pure Targaryen violet set in a face the image of Oberyn's own as a baby (according to Doran). Even at a mere three days old, the babe seemed to be showing signs of having inherited his mother's quiet and thoughtful nature. His daughter was fussier, squirming in his right arm and managing to get one of her tiny arms out of the blanket to wave it against his chest.

He smiled down at her. Although she also shared his skin colouring, she too had Valyrian eyes and her features seemed to be starting to favour her delicate mother already. "Hello, my little Princess," he murmured to her. "Are you upset that Papa has not been visiting you enough, my lovely girl? I am very sorry, sweetling. Mama is unwell, and I have been with her and your sister Sarella. But I am sure that your other sisters and Aunt Arya have been fussing over you fiercely."

He entered the godswood and fell silent, feeling the heavy presence of the Old Gods. Even his little daughter stopped squirming, and both twins seemed to be trying to look around, perhaps in search of the eyes they seemed to feel upon them.

The heart tree had grown with shocking speed. Planted not even eight months, yet already it reached the same height as Oberyn's earlobes, and was thicker than the Viper's waist. It was missing a face, however. Alyssa insisted that only the Children of the Forest were allowed to carve weirwood faces, and they would do so when the Gods desired it.

He made his way over to the tree and carefully knelt, ensuring that the children he held weren't jostled by the action. Then he paused. He knew little of the details of Alys' religion, only that, where the Seven had always been silent towards their followers, no matter how devout, the Old Gods were active in many visible ways.

The Seven had not spared his sister, though Elia had been a pious woman, praying seven times a day to each of the gods and wearing a Seven-Pointed Star given to her by their late mother Princess Loreza, around her neck constantly. But perhaps the Old Gods would show mercy on his wife who was so fiercely devoted towards them, if he could convince them to do so.

In ceremonies for the Seven, there were a multitude of prayers to be learned, hymns for various requests to be memorized. Yet as far as Oberyn knew, all that needed to be done to pray to the Old Gods was close your eyes and hope they were listening.

He snapped his eyes shut tightly, clutching his silent babes to his chest. Even combined, they were both still lighter than any of his other children had been at birth.

"Please," he implored the Old Gods, his voice hoarse. "I beseech you. Do not take Your favour from us. Alyssa is, she is the loveliest lady to ever exist. She will be the greatest queen there has ever been, I know that it will be so. And my daughters, my son. They need her, far more than they need me. If you must take one of us, then let it just be me. Spare her, let her be the mother and ruler she is destined to be. Please, I beseech you. I will gladly do anything, simply spare her life."

"Why do you believe that They have removed Their favour from you and your bondmate, Prince of Snakes?" a high-pitched voice spoke suddenly. He startled, drawing distressed wails from his babes at the abrupt motion.

He held them protectively to his chest as he stared with wide eyes at the person? that had suddenly appeared in between himself and the heart tree. The babes' cries quickly ended, however, and they fell silent again, allowing Oberyn to take in the creature in front of him.

It seemed to be a female, about Dorea's height. Its' skin was nut-brown and dappled like a deer's with paler spots. Its' hands had only three fingers and a thumb, with sharp black claws instead of nails, and its' ears were large and curved into a point at the tip. It was dressed in what seemed like a dress made of tree bark, its' feet bare and also similar to claws. Its' head was cocked to the side, as it gazed at him through gold eyes that were slitted like those of a cat.

"Are you a, a Child of the Forest?" Oberyn asked the creature hesitantly, recalling Alyssa explaining that, though Children were seen frequently enough to ensure they were known not to be a myth, it was actually very rare for anybody to meet one. The North simply downplayed how rare it really was, for the sake of making their kingdom seem stronger.

"Yes," the Child nodded. "I am Livia. Why do you think that They have withdrawn Their favour from yourself and your bondmate, Prince of Vipers?"

"She is lying unconscious, half-way to the afterlife already," Oberyn bit out angrily. "This is the second time in less than a year that she has been in danger whilst I was away from her, yet you ask me why I believe we have lost the favour of the Gods?"

"Perhaps you ought not to be away from her so often, then," Livia suggested, shrugging her slim shoulders. She darted forward on quick, graceful, feet, stopping centimetres away from him and peering intently at the twins. Oberyn tightened his grasp on the children instinctively, though he felt no threat from the Child.

"Do you know," Livia mused. "That these are the first children ever borne to have the blood of the First Men, the Rhoynar, Old Valyria and the Andals in them? Well, Maekar I and Dyanna Dayne's children had almost all of the blood, but only a small fraction of First Men blood, not enough to affect them unfortunately enough. It might have been alright were they raised in the Old Faith, but they were not. Things might have worked out better for them if they had been."

"No," Oberyn said after a moment, brow crinkled. "I did not know that. Will it affect them in some way?"

"If they are raised properly," Livia replied. "Then your children have great futures ahead of them."

"Then they must have their mother," Oberyn declared promptly. "What can I do, to save her?"

"Have faith in the Gods," Livia shrugged again. She stepped back, and gave a strange curtsey. Oberyn opened his mouth to press her further, but he blinked and then she was gone.

In her place was a face carved into the heart tree. It was a thoughtful face, and Oberyn had the strangest feeling that it was staring into his soul.

He met its' 'eyes' just as he felt a flutter in the link between himself and his soulmate. The first one since she had fallen unconscious.

Alyssa was finally starting to wake up.


	39. Doran 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT. I admit that it's a bit of a filler chapter, but at least you guys will finally learn the twins' names. Hope you like 'em! Read, enjoy and review!**

**Chapter Thirty-Eight**

**Doran Two**

_**Sunspear: March 21st, 298 After Conquest**_

Areo wheeled him into the bedchamber. His young goodsister looked frail and exhausted, her skin tinted grey and it seemed that only the small mountain of pillows beneath her kept her in an upright position. Her ever-present direwolf was in the corner of the room, curled up and keeping a careful red eye on the happenings of the chamber.

Oberyn was seated on the edge of the bed, utter relief flowing from his form. He held the newborn twins in his arms, the small pair angled so their mother could see them. Obviously, Alyssa was much too fragile and weak at the moment to hold the children herself.

Regardless, she wore a wide smile and barely glanced at Doran as he entered, her gaze fixed adoringly on the two babes. "Have you ever seen such lovely babes?" she asked him cheerfully as he was wheeled up to the bedside, her voice hoarse.

"They are wonderful, and have their parents' strength," Doran agreed easily. He spoke the truth. The babes had their father's colouring, the girl her mother's beautiful features and both were as strong as to be expected given the difficult circumstances of their birth.

Seeing the life in his young goodsister's eyes made Doran feel more relieved than he thought possible. Losing Elia had nearly destroyed Oberyn, and only his daughters had kept him alive after Ellaria died in childbed.

Oberyn would not have even _wanted_ to live, had he lost his soulmate as well. Doran was certain that, had Alys succumbed to the attack, his brother would not have waited for the broken bond to kill him. In the midst of his grief, he would have taken the heads of the remaining assassins and then turned his sword on himself.

In addition to the grief of losing his brother, his sole surviving sibling, Doran had become very fond of the sweet and intelligent young Queen over the past few months, and he would have been devastated by the loss of her and the babes she had borne.

He shoved such grim thoughts away, reminding himself that such a future had been avoided. Alyssa was weak, but she would recover, and so long as she lived, so too did Doran's sole remaining sibling.

"My brother refuses to tell me the names of my newest niece and my miracle nephew," Doran informed Alyssa. "He insisted that you have the honour of announcing the babes' names."

Her smile widened even more, the violet glint in her eyes making them seem to glow. Despite the attack and her usual gentle solemnity, she seemed to be in wonderful spirits, another relief. But then, he had known she was a strong lady from the moment Oberyn had shown him her name on his wrist. Only a woman who was an equal mix of gently loving and had a spine made of pure steel would ever manage to complete his wild and tender-hearted brother.

"Princess Aliandra Lyanna," she announced with a broad smile. "And Prince Artos Eddard." She paused looking thoughtful. "I suppose that he is the Crown Prince of Westeros, is he not?" she mused. "Such a large weight for such a small boy. And they shall have to be Targaryens both. Though under no circumstances will we be continuing that practice of incest. I care not what Jaehaerys and Alysanne Targaryen thought of themselves, being able to ride a dragon does not exempt one from following the laws of the gods, Old or New. The worst of Targaryen kings all came from incestuous marriages, I will not see such fates repeated with my children."

"I quite agree with you, my love, but mayhaps it will be Crown Princess Aliandra instead," Oberyn teased her lightly, cutting her off before she continued with her rant.

She smirked at that. "I should like to see the look on the faces of the lords of the Midlands should we change the succession laws of Westeros to match Dorne," she giggled in clear amusement. Oberyn smiled adoringly at her, looking as if the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders by her smile. It was a wonderful change from his guilt-ridden despair, during the three long days he had spent by her bedside, only leaving to check on Sarella and the young children.

Doran's relief increased at being able to see with his own eyes how much better Oberyn seemed to be now. He had feared that Oberyn would fall unconscious himself, sapped of strength by fear for Alys, the twins and Sarella and drained further by his bondmate's injuries.

_The Gods are merciful, _the Ruling Prince mused to himself, before returning his attention to his brother and goodsister.

"Fine names, with excellent history behind them," he complimented. "Aliandra for Princess Aliandra, Queen Nymeria and Mors Martell's eldest daughter, I take it?" At least, that namesake made more sense than the most recent Aliandra Martell, who had ruled Dorne during Aegon III and Queen Saera's reign. That particular Ruling Princess had been too flirty and wild for Doran to think his serious and sweet goodsister would choose to name her daughter after her.

"Aye," Alys nodded. "And then Artos is named for three Starks: King Theon the Hungry Wolf's second son, who first set up Hardhome, King Artos the Scholar Wolf, who has always been my favourite ruler, and then my great-great uncle Artos Stark, who repelled an invasion from Beyond-the-Wall. He managed to slay a giant during the battle."

Doran smiled at her. "Fine namesakes," he agreed. "And 'tis fitting for them to share namesakes with other children of Marked couples. They have great fates ahead of them."

"They are not going to be raised in the Light of the Seven," Oberyn spoke up suddenly, a strange look in his eye.

Apparently, even Alyssa had not been aware of that, because she looked at him in askance. Though she certainly did not appear displeased by the announcement. While the young would-be Queen was never anything except the definition of polite to the septas and septons she met, she was a strong believer in the Old Gods, and clearly did not want to have her children raised as followers of the New ones.

"I thought we were going to-" she began to say.

Oberyn interrupted her. "The Seven did not bring you back to me," he declared. "They did not save our children's lives. The Old Gods did. I will have our children raised as followers of the Old Faith, and none other."

Alys smiled softly at him, but she was still too weak to lean over and kiss him. Oberyn, his arms filled with babes, could not embrace his young wife either, and so the couple compromised by exchanging meaningful looks and silent words.

"Given that the King or Queen of the Seven Kingdoms is known as the 'Defender of the Faith', it may cause problems," Doran pointed out, not truly worried. There had been a strong upsurge in conversions to the Old Faith over the past eight months, and nobody would risk angering the Gods' chosen. Whichever Gods it was.

"Should that happen, then we will deal with it at the time," Alys declared firmly.

"Did you come solely to learn the names of my children, Brother?" Oberyn asked, tearing his gaze from his wife with obvious reluctance and looking over at him. "Or is there something wrong?"

"I wondered, Brother, Sister, if you would be amenable to learning the identity of the attackers' employer," Doran replied mildly. "Tyene has at last persuaded their tongues to loosen. Or one of their tongues, at least."

The twins started to wail when Oberyn jerked at his words, accidentally startling his children.

"Oberyn!" Alys exclaimed. She reached for the babes instinctively, but Oberyn was quick to readjust himself and start bouncing the two babes to soothe them.

"Alyssa, my darling, you are not strong enough to hold them yet," he reminded her gently. She glared at him, looking pained.

"I know, but at least should I drop one of them, they will land on the soft bed, not the hard floor," she retorted. "Now, put them in their cradle, will you not? I would know the names of those cowards who would have murdered my babes before they breathed air."

'_Winter is Coming with Fire and Blood' _Doran thought to himself as he studied the carefully-controlled anger in Alys' eyes. She did not have Oberyn's raging temper, thank the gods, but that did not mean she was without one entirely. Those who had harmed her people had sealed their fate, for Alyssa had been raised to follow the Old Way, in which an eye for an eye was expected and never done by another if they could do so themselves.

She would make those who had sought to kill herself and her children pay for it. He didn't know if Oberyn had admitted to her yet that a young boy had died bravely defending her, but he had no doubt that she would be the first to demand justice on the boy's behalf. At least Gendry had survived, for Alys seemed to consider him another brother, or a younger cousin perhaps.

Oberyn's jaw was tight and his eyes filled with fury but he held the babes as gently as ever as he placed them down beside one another in the cradle resting beside their mother's bedside. Above the cradle hung a mobile with painted snakes, suns, dragons and direwolves, and Aliandra cooed at them in interest, her small fist reaching up to try and grasp one of the figures.

"It was the Lannisters, was it not?" Oberyn demanded, once he had retaken his position beside his wife and held her hand in his own. "They did this, those butchers!"

It was obvious from her expression that Alys also expected the source of her attack to be the lions. Both of them were obviously stunned when he refuted the accusation.

"No, 'twas not," Doran informed. "In fact, 'twas the false King Aegon and his wife, Daenaerys, who hired the men. They are Essosi assassins, though not Faceless Men, thank the Gods. In a curious twist of fate, however, one of the assassins is of particular interest to us."

"What do you mean?" Alyssa frowned at him. Her eyes darted to the crib worriedly, and Oberyn slipped an arm around her shoulders to pull her close and rub her arm comfortingly.

"Nobody will touch the children, I assure you," Doran promised, guessing her worries. If these false Targaryens (and how dare they besmirch Elia's memory so? His sister would never have chosen to save one child over the other, would never have agreed to accept an imposter babe and put that innocent child at risk. He would see vengeance for that slight also, though it would be secondary to everything else that they had done.)

"Of course," Alys gave a weak smile. "I just-never mind. Please, continue."

Doran inclined his head and did so. "As I said, one of the assassins is of particular interest to us. Amory Lorch."

Oberyn jolted up, one hand on his sheathed dagger and eyes ablaze with raw fury. "Are you telling me, Doran," he hissed in a mimicry of his serpentine namesake. "That the same filth that killed our sweet niece, tried to kill my wife and children too?"

"Yes," Doran nodded solemnly. "I am afraid so. However, I am sure that you shall be pleased to know that he lives still. In this case, I think you ought to be the one to take his life once he has been tried and convicted, Brother."

Oberyn briefly looked eager, then paused at a thought and looked down at his wife. They locked eyes and seemed to communicate through their eyes, before Alys sighed and nodded, slumping back against her pillows. She turned a wane smile in Doran's direction, suddenly seeming to have lost all of her previous cheer and energy and turned into a shadow of herself. In the corner of the room, Ghost's ears flattened unhappily and she whined miserably.

"When is the trial?" Oberyn asked.

"Whenever we desire to hold it," Doran answered easily. "I know not your opinion, Brother, however I would prefer to hold it sooner rather than later. I am eager to gain some bit of the justice that we have waited so long for."

"Alyssa, my love," Oberyn turned back to her. She waved him off weakly.

"Go, see justice done for your sister and her babes. For our twins. I will rest content knowing that scum is no longer on the earth to put our children at risk."

"I will send the girls to you, if you well enough for it," Oberyn offered, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Dorea and Loreza are eager to see their mother, and Arya may very well burn down the entire palace if she doesn't get to see her sister is alive with her own eyes soon enough."

Alys let out a tired laugh and nodded. "Yes, of course, I wish to see them," she agreed. She paused then looked between them both, wearing an expression of serious determination on her pale face. "I would see his death with my own eyes, for what he has done. All of it."

"And you shall, my queen," Doran agreed, inclining his head.

She gave a quick nod, still-uncomfortable with being acknowledged as Queen of Westeros (and she already had received vows of allegiance from Dorne, the Winter Lands, the Reach and the Riverlands. The others would fall into line and accept her and Oberyn's claim soon enough, no matter how hard the pretenders sought to avoid it.), then leaned back in her pillows and closed her eyes.

Oberyn left her side with obvious reluctance, pressing another kiss to the top of her head before following Doran out the door, bloodlust and the desire for vengeance beginning to cover his face.

At long last, Rhaenys would receive justice. Dorne would give no quarter to the man who had pulled his three-year-old niece from beneath her bed and stabbed her a hundred times to death.

Amory Lorch was counting his breaths in the dozens, not even the hundreds for what he had done.


	40. Daenaerys 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT.**

**Okay guys, this is the second last chapter before the end of this one. The sequel is called 'A Clash of Crowns' and shows the events of the War for the Iron Throne and the War for the Dawn.**

**I'm also working on a story called: Princess of Wolves, Prince of Snakes, which is the one with the independent North where Oberyn flees to with Elia and her children after a coup. That'll be up soon, so keep an eye out!**

**Now, read, enjoy and review!**

**Chapter Thirty-Nine**

**Daenaerys 1**

_**Dragonstone: March 21st, 298 After Conquest**_

In the Chamber of the Painted Table in Dragonstone, Dany sat quietly in her small throne-style chair on the dais as the men deliberated on their next move around the Painted Table itself. It would not occur to any of them to ask the Queen for her opinion of course. It never did.

The discussion was interrupted by a servant's arrival. "Your Grace," the man came in and bowed deeply. "A message has arrived for you."

"Finally," Aegon grinned smugly. "It must be the news that the Pretender Witch Queen is dead, her bastard with her. Hopefully the spell that she put over my uncles is gone with her, and they have returned to their senses and wish to pledge their allegiance to me and my cause."

_To__** us**__,_ Dany corrected him with a mental scowl. _To __**our **__cause._

She was his wife and his queen, she carried their heir in her belly. His lack of respect for her was an insult. Especially as it had been Dany who gave them the majority of their army through her first marriage. Drogo. How she missed him. Dothraki savage he might have been, but he had been a far better husband and leader than Aegon could ever dream of being.

Aegon was a foolish, arrogant boy with delusions of grandeur. He was not a king.

The servant carried a letter over and gave it to Aegon, who quickly cracked the seal and opened it. His pleased look turned furious a moment later and he flung it on the table in a fit of rage.

"Incompetent fools!" he cried in rage. "Useless morons! Damn them all! How is that ten trained warriors were unable to kill one pregnant lady?"

Dany ignored both her husband and their advisors as Lord Connington, Daario and Melisandre tried to calm the petulant king's tantrum. Instead, she reached out to pick up the letter and scan it.

_**To His Grace King Aegon, Sixth of His Name, King of the Rhoynar, the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Realm, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, greetings.**_

_**I must convey my deepest regrets, Your Grace. The attempt on the life of the Pretender was a failure. Her guards were more skilled than we expected, and several of the locals intervened to protect her. The spell she has cast over them is strong, I regret to say.**_

_**Of the others, only three survived save myself, and all the others were captured. They are being interrogated by the Martells' people as I write, and I doubt their ability to keep secret their mission and your relation to it. One of the Viper's daughters is said to have inherited her father's skill with potions, and there are many mixtures that can be used to loosen one's tongue, especially when aided by pain. Once the Martells have learned all they know, I have no doubt that they shall be executed for their attack on the Pretender.**_

_**I myself was injured, and cannot aid my fellows. Nor will I be able to complete my mission. The Pretender Queen has been secured within the walls of Sunspear. The guard on the palace has been at least doubled, and nobody is allowed in or out. The Pretender birthed her two babes, a son and a daughter, successfully despite her injuries. Many here take it as a sign that their false gods are shining upon the Pretender. I fear that the attack has increased support for her.**_

_**I plead for your forgiveness for failing the mission that you entrusted me with, Your Grace. It pains me deeply to deliver such distressing news to you. I can only pray that the Lord of Light will show us another path soon.**_

_**Yours sincerely,**_

_**Sevara, Red Priestess of R'hllor, the Lord of Light.**_

Dany felt her lips disappear in the fury that she could not suppress. The woman who claimed her rightful title, the Stark whore, was still alive. And even her children were alive and healthy! It was unfair.

The woman was some jumped-up bastard, taking advantage of a birthmark to gain power.

She would not get it though, Dany was sure of that. _She_ was Queen Daenaerys Stormborn, the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. She would not allow the bastard child of the Usurper's Dog to steal what was rightfully hers from Dany and her children.

As if to remind her of what she was fighting for, her unborn son kicked inside her, and Dany rested a hand on her swollen stomach to soothe him. He would be an active boy, she was sure of it. The blood of the dragon ran strong within him, even before his birth.

"Aegon, listen to me," Lord Connington planted his hands on Aegon's shoulders and forced him to stay still and look his foster father in the eye. "This is a set-back, I agree. But it's _only_ a set-back. It does not damage our cause so much as that, I promise you. A red priestess she may be, but Sevara is still only a woman, and her sensibilities make her inclined to exaggerate things. We are not in so dire a state as she makes it seem."

At the comment on women, both Dany and Melisandre shot the Hand of the King icy looks which he ignored. Much to Dany's annoyance, Connington had managed to calm Aegon with his words.

"You are correct, Father," he nodded. "Women are always dramatic. But I still dislike it. These are my uncles, my mother's brothers, who are being manipulated by that Pretender Whore. The longer she lives, the further in she digs her wolf's paws. And now she has delivered children, I worry that her spell will linger on their minds even after their deaths. Even if we were to kill her, the children would still be alive. She has convinced them that she is the rightful heir to the Iron Throne, they may decide to be more loyal to the boy she birthed than me."

He scowled at that, as if it was unconscionable that his uncles might be more loyal to an infant son and nephew that they knew than a nephew they had never laid eyes upon and had believed dead for more than a dozen years.

"Do not be foolish, Husband," Dany spoke up, rising from her chair and making her way over to the group. She stopped beside the section showing the North, trailing her fingers over the painted replica of the Wall. "Children are fragile beings, after all," she went on. "And those twins were born early, in difficult circumstances. It would not be the first time premature babes fell asleep and never woke up."

They gave her thoughtful looks.

"You are correct, Wife," Aegon said musingly. "But how to go about the whole thing? Clearly, outright attack was an utter failure. We must come up with another way."

"Your Graces," Lady Melisandre spoke up. Dany suppressed the urge to glare at the woman. She hated Melisandre's constant nattering about how 'the night is dark and full of terrors' as well as how she made Aegon's already-over inflated ego reach the skies. The prophecy and claim that Aegon was Azor Ahai reborn was complete nonsense that drove Dany mad with anger.

It was almost as infuriating as the fact that the woman was shamelessly laying with Dany's husband, even as she curtsied to Dany and claimed to be loyal to her.

"Yes, Lady Melisandre," Aegon smiled at the red priestess. Dany gritted her teeth and felt her nails dig into her palms with anger as she clenched her fists. "Do you have a suggestion?"

"Perhaps you have seen a solution in the flames?" Dany added, managing to hide the sarcasm in her voice. "Please, my lady, do go on. You are our advisor. Advise us."

Melisandre's smile was tight at the edges as she responded, much to Dany's satisfaction.

"I suggest, Your Graces, that you seek the aid of the Faceless Men of Braavos. They are costly, I grant you. But they are undetectable, and they rarely fail to subdue a target. Nor will any of them allow the Marks of the False Gods to deter them from their mission, or the ages and genders of their targets. Hire one to kill the Pretender Queen, and you will have the woman's head, as well as those of her babes, I promise you."

"Lady Melisandre is correct," Lord Connington agreed, clearly unhappy at having to acknowledge that a woman could have a brain instead of air in her head. As far as the Hand of the King was concerned, women were good only for birthing sons, and they were too emotional and weak to be involved in matters of state and warcraft.

"Very well then," Aegon declared pompously. "We shall engage a Faceless Man to kill the Pretender Queen who has bewitched my Uncle Oberyn and the rest of Dorne, along with both of her children. Daario, see to it."

Daario's expression was neutral and even as he bowed to his liege and then to Dany before striding out the door, leaving them be.

"Now," Aegon continued. "What other news is there? Has anybody sent word that they acknowledge Dany and I as the rightful rulers yet?"

Lord Connington grimaced and looked down. Dany felt her own expression darken in annoyance, realizing what that meant. Clearly even Aegon was able to understand the meaning of the Hand's discomfort, because his face turned stormy.

"Why not?" he barked.

"Your Grace," Jon said placatingly. "You must realize that it is hard for people to believe a tale such as yours. It-"

"It is the truth!" Aegon bellowed, throwing a goblet at the wall in a fit of temper. "I am Aegon Targaryen, Sixth of my name and the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. Not the Usurper, nor the treacherous Lannisters and not the bloody Stark whore! _Me!_"

"I know that," Lord Connington tried to soothe him. "And so too will everybody else soon enough. But they have not yet seen your face to see the mark of Old Valyria in your features. They are wary of you, coming from an Essosi upbringing-"

"That I was forced to live due to my family being betrayed!" Aegon spat, his violet eyes a stormy purple.

"Yes, I know," Jon agreed calmly. He was far more patient than Dany was with the king's tantrums, but then again, he had been dealing with them for fifteen years now. Practice makes perfect, as they say. "But still, the Westerosi dislike the culture of Essos and its people. And they fervently believe in the Seven and the Old Gods."

He grimaced when he mentioned the main Westerosi religions. Dany knew that, although he had been named in the Light of the Seven as an infant, he himself was a devoted follower of the Red God, and had been for some years. His devotion to R'hllor was even stronger than his contempt for women, meaning he was willing to bow to Melisandre due to her status as a red priestess.

"Those religions both consider Markings to be blessings from the False Gods," Lord Connington went on. "And the people who bare them are often considered similar to gods made flesh. Combining the facts that the Stark bastard was raised in Westeros and she bares a Mark, it makes people go in her favour. I promise you Aegon, once she's dead, everyone will come flocking to you. They have been waiting years for the return of the Targaryen dynasty."

Dany left, irritated when they failed to even notice, and returned to her rooms (separate from her husband's, thank the gods). She sat at her vanity, Missandei brushing her hair, and brooded over the earlier discussion.

Despite what Lord Connington claimed, and despite it matching Viserys' claims when they were growing up, Dany did not believe that the smallfolk of Westeros had all been eagerly awaiting their return. At one point she had believed so, but the reactions of the people of the island of Dragonstone had destroyed that belief.

She had learned through Missandei, who had spoken to the native servants, that her father had been a vicious madman, and that the claims of Rhaegar kidnapping and raping Lyanna Stark were truthful and had been verified. A woman attending the late magnara had been fatally injured protecting her and had dragged herself several miles to warn the lady's family of what had happened and who had done it. Dany's own father had killed hundreds, laughing and watching gleefully as they burned to death.

No, despite what Aegon thought, their conquest was not going to be simple. But their advisors were all correct about one thing.

Alysanne Targaryen and her children were definitely the main barriers to them regaining the Iron Throne.


	41. Alyssa 10

**Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT. Okay, this is the last chapter of A Song of Marked Souls. Thank you all for following this and enjoying it so much!**

**Chapter Forty**

**Alyssa Ten**

_**Sunspear: March 22nd, 298 After Conquest**_

_Our way is the Old Way. The one who passes the sentence, swings the sword. _Eddard Stark had told that to all of his children a thousand times over the course of their childhoods.

The Winter Landers were not like the southrons, who let others stain their hands with blood in their names. In the eyes of the First Men, any person who was willing to sentence a person to death, to end their life, should do it themselves. Anything else was weak cowardice, and there was nothing more to be said about it.

That was why Alys had stubbornly gotten out of bed and dressed, ignoring the pain plaguing her. Her arm ached from being stabbed, and her abdomen felt as if it had been split in half, even with the medicine given to her by Scholar Whitewolf (now the official Scholar of Sunspear).

She made her way to the Great Hall of Sunspear, Ghost padding alongside her and a cadre of four guards (as well as Ygritte, still recovering from the attack herself) surrounding her. Alys was still unhappy at Oberyn's insistence on her having extra guards even in the palace itself, but she understood and agreed with his reasoning. Most Westerosi would not dare to attack a Marked One, but they were no longer dealing solely with Westerosi. And Gods only knew what lengths the Lannisters would go to in order to maintain their precious power. She would not risk leaving her children as orphans solely because she disliked having guards around her all of the time.

Oberyn frowned disapprovingly when she arrived, coming to her side and taking her elbow to support her.

"You should be recovering in bed," he grumbled to her softly. "You do not need to do this, Alyssa."

She grasped his wrist and turned it, tracing the Name scrawled across his skin in her handwriting: _Alysanne of Houses Targaryen and Stark._ It had changed from Alyssa of House Stark the same day they had announced her true heritage to the world. The Gods truly worked in mysterious ways.

"Yes," she informed him softly. "I do. If I must be Queen, then I will be a proper queen, and rule _myself_. I will not be as the Usurper is, letting my Hand rule in my name as I fill my time with different activities to entertain myself."

He sighed and kissed her. "Would that you were not so stubborn and dutiful," he complained. "Very well, it shall be as you say. But I insist that you return to bed so that you might rest after it is over."

"I have no objections to that," Alys agreed easily. Just the walk from her rooms to the Great Hall had been exhausting. She fully expected to be dead on her feet once it was all over and done with.

She shifted her weight off her husband and straightened, concealing her lingering weakness under the Northern austerity she had been taught as they went inside the hall, which was crowded with people. Doran sat on the dais, but he was on the second step, with another set of joint thrones sitting on the top. It had been so since she had been declared Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and her goodbrother had sworn Dorne's allegiance to her.

She and her husband made their way to the thrones and sat on them, before Oberyn nodded to a guard, who stepped outside.

The man returned a moment later, clutching one of Amory Lorch's arms in a tight grip, the other arm held by Obara. The mere sight of him had her husband stiffening. She could feel his lust for vengeance through their link.

'_**Soon, Oberyn,'**_she sent to him, resting one hand over his to try and calm him. _**'Hold.' **_She did not bother to remind him that this was, in truth, their first real test of leadership. They had been helping organize the war, but this was being_ observed_. People would be judging their ability to rule based on this.

Lorch was dragged up to the bottom of the dais and forced to his knees in front of it, Obara keeping her spear against his neck to prevent him from trying to flee or lunge at any of the royals on the dais. Not that he would manage it if he was foolish enough to try such a stupid thing, but Amory Lorch was known for brutality, not sense. Desperate men with nothing to lose were dangerous men.

"Amory Lorch," Alys called out as firmly as she could. "You have accused of the grave crimes of the murder of Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, and treason against Us, in the form of attempted regicide of a pregnant Queen Regnant. As I am Marked, you are also guilty of heresy, by trying to murder a Chosen One of the Gods. You have been tried and found guilty by His Highness, Prince Doran of House Nymeros Martell, and King-Consort Oberyn of Houses Targaryen and Martell. You have thus been sentenced to die."

He spat at the ground. "Jus' cause you have a fancy tattoo on your wrist, don' mean tha' you're a queen," he snarled at her, through several missing teeth. Alys had no interest in knowing what had happened to cost him his teeth. The fact that her husband had 'visited' him in the dungeons told her more than enough about all of it.

Alys gave a dry smile. "No, it does not," she agreed politely. "The Targaryen blood in my veins, the deaths of my elder siblings, one at your hand I will remind you, as well as the rulers of Dorne, the Winter Lands, the Reach and the Riverlands all swearing allegiance to me as Queen, however, _do_ make me a queen. And, as Queen of Four Kingdoms, if not all seven just yet, We do hereby declare that it is time for you to meet the Stranger, and, furthermore, that you are attained and stripped of all lands and titles, for you have proven yourself unworthy of them."

She rose, her husband rising a second after her, and began trotting down the steps. Obara and the guard grabbed Lorch's arms, and Alys led the courtiers to the new godswood, where a block had already been placed in front of the heart tree.

She stepped up beside it, and nodded at the two soldiers to put Lorch in place, whilst Oberyn handed her a sword. It felt heavy as she gripped it, her stomach twisting.

'_**Are you certain that you do not wish to do this yourself?'**_ she sent to Oberyn as Obara forced a struggling Lorch into position, his head resting on the block while the other guard kept him in place.

'_**Rhaenys was your sister, even if you never met her'**_ he answered. _**'And this is more fitting. He will go to the hells knowing that not all girls are helpless. To see him die will be enough for me.'**_

"Amory Lorch, for treason, murder and heresy, I, Alysanne Targaryen, First of My Name, Queen of the Rhoynar, the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Realm, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, do hereby sentence you to die. May the Gods forgive you your sins, for we cannot."

She raised the sword, and brought it down, slicing through his neck with sickening ease.

* * *

_**Sunspear: March 23rd, 298 After Conquest**_

"They are so small," Loreza complained, peering over the edge of the cradle at her younger siblings. "When can we play with them?"

"That is quite a while away, sweetling," Alys told her middle daughter, from her position in the bed. The effort of the execution had exhausted her limited reserves, and she was resting against a small mountain of pillows, whilst her husband hovered over her protectively and her children visited.

The sight of them lifted her spirits, though she could not fully keep herself from brooding. She had never killed anybody before. Regardless of Lorch's crimes, she knew that the act of killing him would weigh heavily on her.

"How long is a while?" Dorea asked, sitting beside Ghost's bulk and petting her. "Next week?"

"Oh, a few moons, I am afraid," Oberyn informed the girls, who pouted in disappointment. "'Twill be some time before they are strong enough to do anything save eat and sleep."

"Really?" Loree pouted. "Are you sure? We did not take so long."

"Oh yes you did," he corrected her affectionately, reaching out to tweak her button nose. She giggled and batted at his hand, beaming adoringly up at him.

Alys smiled tiredly at the scene, before feeling her eyelids shut for a long moment. She forced them open again, sensing her bondmate's concern for her.

'_**I am well' **_she assured him._** 'Simply tired'.**_

"I think it is time for you two to go to your lessons, do you not agree?" Oberyn said to the girls instead of replying to her.

They protested, but he held firm, ordering them to kiss the twins and Alys goodbye before hustling them from the chamber and into the care of their governess.

Alys let herself sink back into the cushions, eyes closed as she dozed. She felt the bed sink down as Oberyn sat beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders to pull her close to him, carefully avoiding touching her injured arm.

"You want to go to the frontlines, do you not?" she murmured to him, forcing herself to wake up again.

He was silent for a moment before answering. "Yes, I do."

"When I have recovered, we shall both have to go," she acknowledged. "I dislike it, but 'tis only right."

"Alyssa-"

"It is, we both know it. I have been selfish, wanting to stay with the children instead of going. They are fighting for me to be Queen, I should be there."

"You have only just delivered a set of twins and in difficult circumstances to say the least," Oberyn pointed out. "Nobody could possibly expect you to go and stay at the front of an army."

"_I _expect it of myself," she replied quietly. "They call me their queen, they deserve to see who they are fighting for. They deserve to know that I appreciate what they are doing for me and my children."

"For _us_," he corrected her, twisting a lock of her hair around his finger. "For_ our _children. I am with you, for all of this, my love. You know that."

"I do," she nodded, clasping his hand in her own. "I despise the thought of leaving the children, but if we are to rule, then we cannot stay away from the war. I was foolish to believe so."

"You are a mother who loves her children, there is no sin in that," he replied. "But something else is troubling you. What is it?"

Alys was silent for a moment before she answered him.

"We need to go and meet with my father and his men first," she finally announced.

"Why? We cannot risk favouring any kingdoms, my love. Not even our homelands."

"I know," she nodded. "I do. But Father has something for me."

"Wha-?"

She cut off his question by sending him the memory of the dream that had been repeatedly playing itself out in her mind whilst she was asleep for the last few months. He stared at her in shock when it was over, and she elaborated on her plans.

"Father checked and found it. He has it with him, waiting for us to meet that I might take custody of it and hatch it."

"Alyssa, you cannot be serious!"

She shifted to look at him. He had bounded off of the bed and was pacing furiously.

"Have you gone mad? You know perfectly well what has happened whenever a Targaryen got it into their heads to try and bring back the dragons!"

"I do, but," she tried to say, only for him to cut her off, still ranting.

"Aerion Brightflame, Aegon the Unlikely, by the Old Gods Alys, this is insanity! I will not let you do this! Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

Alys shot up, ignoring the agony in her belly, kneeling on the bed and glaring at her husband determinedly. "You know I am not! And yes, I am perfectly aware what happened to the others who sought to restore the dragons to House Targaryen, but there is a difference between them and I!"

"And what difference is that, my wife?"

Alys raised her chin defiantly, meeting his gaze firmly. "I have access to Visenya Stark of House Targaryen's journals, and she writes of how to hatch a dragon egg with it. I am bringing back the dragons, Husband, and you cannot stop me."

He gave her a grim look. "I suppose I cannot," he acknowledged. "You are much too yourself to ever let anybody keep you from doing what you will. But this will change things, Alyssa. You must be prepared for that."

"Things have already changed."


	42. AN

Hey guys. I hope everyone's doing alright given we're in the middle of a pandemic. Alright, I have to apologize. I know I promised a sequel, but I don't know if it'll ever happen, and if it does it's quite a while away. However, if anybody wants to take a stab at it, go ahead.

Sorry.

IWantColouredRain


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